An Inside Joke You Really Don't Want to Be In On
by fingers-falling-upwards
Summary: "Seeley?" Spike exclaimed, laughing, "Is that your name? God, they do have a sense of humor, I see it now." After waking from his coma post season 4, Seeley Booth discovers he might not have always been the person he thought he was. Old friends mix with new friends and two worlds collide. Can he keep his past a secret and still save the world? Long fic, undecided pairing.
1. Torn Seams and Frayed Ends

**Hello, Fingersfallingupwards here, posting another project for reasons of 4 AM logic. I love this crossover so much it hurts. But where are all the stories? ****This is the crossover I wish I could have read. (Any recs?)**

**The pairing is undecided.**

**I promise this will be the most original, in-depth, epic fic of Bones and Angel I can make. Grammar and Spelling? Not so big on the promising in that category. Sorry.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own neither 'Bones' nor 'Angel' nor any affiliated creations.**

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Chapter One: _Torn Seams and Frayed Ends_

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The lights were falling around his head.

Blinding whiteness filled his eyes and it seemed as though he had been floating for a lifetime.

—_Angel_—

Memories conflicted, mixing and meshing in a mis-matched web of colors and lives.

_Booth, you_—

His eyes parted. The white of the room was overwhelming for a moment and his eyes fluttered before falling shut once more. After a few seconds of adjusting, he looked around the blinding unfamiliar space.

Light, he hadn't known real light in hundreds of years. Though he'd been swimming in the bright sun a few days ago. His mind twitched painfully. There were so many mixed feelings and ideas swirling around his head all at once.

_Champion of the hopeless—_

He couldn't understand. He squeezed his eyes shut.

—y_ou're my partn_—

Why was this so painful? Who was he? What was—

—_When I look into the future all I see is you—_

"Booth." The voice was gentle, and feminine. There was a hand on his arm, warm and alive.

He opened his eyes and looked towards her. Concerned blue eyes rested below thick brown hair.

His eyelids fluttered as a cavalcade of hundreds and thousands of brunette women he'd never known and remembered so well, began pouring through his head. Composed of all ages and eras of dress, they tread through the white space of his mind. Blood covered their body more often than not, and he knew instinctively that he had been the one to kill them. But every so often, there was one smiling towards him, alive and pure.

It was too much. "Who am I?" He asked breathing heavily. It was an unnecessary habit, but he also knew it wasn't. The burn in his lungs felt real. It felt human. Was that what he was? What else would he be, another part of himself asked?

"I— I," The woman jumped to her feel trembling.

"Who are you?" The features blurred together for a moment and all at once she was every brunette woman who marched through his head.

"'Me darlin' Kathy?" He asked, sitting up. He reached his hand out towards her.

She shook her head numbly.

_Blood poured down her throat._

_Liam's hand fell, landing limply on his lap, shiny and coated with red liquid._

No, his mind supplied slowly. She was from another lifetime. She knew Liam. Was he Liam? No, he wasn't not any more. Not since Kathy died. He knew that.

He groped mentally. "Drusilla?" He asked after a moment of silence.

_Her tinkling, off-key laughter echoed in his ears and dread and nausea filled his stomach. Angelus groaned aloud and doubled over. _

The woman approached him with a gentle, though shaking touch.

No, gentility contrasted so greatly with the messy image of the woman in his mind. The beautiful, terrible mess that he had made. She was Angelus' doing, but he didn't do things like that. He stopped making them bleed. He wasn't like that anymore.

"Cordelia?" He tried again_._

_The image of a bright young woman with pain in her eyes and an incisive smile on her face settled into Angel's mind. He smiled now._

Angel. That sounded closer. Angel was good. Could he be that person?

"No— I'm not any of those . . ." Not-Cordelia said, pain lacing her voice. The images in his head shifted fiercely rearranging themselves so quickly he thought he was going to throw up. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a beautiful intelligent woman. Her face was ashen and anguished.

"Bones?" He queried.

"Yes," She said, giving a watery smile, Tears began flooding down her face. He didn't want her to cry.

"Why are you crying?" He asked.

"I don't know!" She exclaimed. He wanted her to be better, to be happy. "Do—" She cleared her throat. "Do you remember who you are?"

He reached out towards her face, ignoring the slight twitch. "This is who I am." He spoke simply as he carefully wiped the tears from her cheeks.

His hand rested on her cheek a moment more until a small smile spread over her face.

"Oh!" He exclaimed softly. Suddenly he knew who he was. He cared about Bones. Booth was the one who cared about Bones.

"Booth," He said. "I'm Booth."

Her eyes widened as surprise filled her expression. It startled a chuckle out of him.

"Getting all teary over me Bones," He teased, feeling warm in his heart, "You're lucky Sweets isn't here to psychoanalyze this. He'd never let this go."

She laughed lightly.

"Are you sure you're okay Booth?" Bones eventually looked at him again, concern filling her blue eyes. "You didn't remember your name or mine at first."

He nodded as the specifics of what was going on filtered back into his mind. "It was just a bit scrambled, what with the whole cutting into my brain thing," He said flippantly. "The doctor said it might be like this after the surgery for a little while."

Bones nodded slowly. She had committed the doctor's words to memory. So far, it had gone better than he'd said it could have.

"Hey, everything's fine," he said, drawing back her attention. "Stop worrying or you'll get wrinkles."

She shook her head from her thoughts. "I should get the doctor," she said rising from her chair. She hesitated for a moment before she turned back to Booth. "I'm glad you're okay," she said honestly before ducking out of the room.

The moment the door closed behind her, a serious expression spread over Booth's face as he put his arms beneath his head and laid back down.

He needed to figure out why exactly he had 250+ years of memories in his head.

* * *

The doctors had come in shortly after Bones had left and examined him up and down. After they found he was physically sound, they invited Bones back in. What proceeded was round upon round of questions about what he remembered. They referred back to Bones to check his answers. He was a bit slow to answering the questions. The men in white coats waved it away as being perfectly natural after having brain surgery.

Despite their assurance, it frustrated him.

He personally blamed it on having to sort through nearly three hundred years of memories, but he kept that thought to himself. He bantered a little with Bones which made him smile and her relax a little. After being put through the ringer, they declared him to be mentally stable, and on schedule for a full recovery. They left him alone with Bones. After a little more banter, she also left, promising to bring around the squint squad to visit.

Once she was gone, the smile slowly faded from his face and a brooding countenance filled the gap.

Thoughts ran around the inside of his head madly, making it ache painfully. He was still trying to sort through all of the old-new memories he found himself suddenly saddled with. One concern elevated above the whirlwind of confusion he now found himself in, and that was the question of _why_ it was he remembered all these new things from so long ago— from another lifetime.

Booth toyed with a few theories to explain the influx of information.

The first was that he was still crazy, and should probably tell a doctor. This was his least favorite hypothesis.

The second theory was that he _had_ been Angel, and he fulfilled the prophecy and Shanshu-ed into a new, human life. He hesitated. This would greatly explain why it felt as though he had always been Angel, instead of feeling like another person's memories. At the same time, it seemed to be highly, highly unlikely. A vampire with a soul, who ended up having what was supposed to be an impossible kid, and taking over a law firm and facing a dragon? Was it possible for all that to happen to a person? It seemed farfetched. That wasn't even mentioning the all too important detail of considering the idea that vampires even _existed._

Booth rubbed his face.

The third option was that he had been kidnapped by aliens.

He sighed heavily.

The insanity argument was looking more and more likely.

"Knock knock," Angela said from the open door, her face a brimming smile.

He let the moody expression fall from his face and turned to her with a smile, "Angela," he greeted. He spied Brennan, Sweets and the other two scientists filing in behind her but his mind blanked for a moment and he felt his face growing pale.

"Booth honey, are you alright?" Angela asked, noting his expression.

"Conner? Wesley?" He asked incredulously, a mixture of tumultuous emotions building in his chest. There was an awkward pause in the room before Bones quickly dragged the two men closer and sat them down near Booth.

"No," Bones said, a calm expression on her face, "This is Zach."

"Uhm, hello Agent Booth," the young man fidgeted awkwardly. No. Definitely not Conner.

Conner preferred brooding and glaring when he felt uncomfortable, never the kind of fidgeting he saw before him. Never awkward submissiveness. He blinked and tried to banish the image of his maybe-imaginary-son. He was grateful that when he opened his eyes, the lab tech sat in his place.

"Oh," he said after a moment, "Sorry about that." He scratched his head. "How've you been?"

"I would argue perhaps better than you seeing as you had a tumor," The young scientist said bluntly, making Booth smile.

"And this is Hodgins," Angela said catching on to what her friend was doing. Not-Wesley smiled awkwardly.

He tried to bring the appropriate image to mind. Booth felt pleased it had fallen into place sooner than the last time.

"Right. I remember."

"You're not just saying that right?" The scientist asked skeptically.

"No," He said honestly, "I remember now."

The relief in the room was palpable. From the lack of surprise on their faces, it was clear to see that Bones had talked to them before letting them in to see him.

"Hello Booth," The psychologist, Dr. Sweets said belatedly.

"Hi Sweets," Booth greeted. He knew the young doctor was scanning him and measuring his responses in a way that only someone deeply invested in the art of the human mind could. He shifted a little uncomfortably under the kind, though analytical gaze. Freud had been like that too when he'd ran into him at a cocktail party during—

"Oh, score," Hodgins said, noting the food. "Pudding!"

"Back off," Booth warned, holding the spoon threateningly. Inwardly he welcomed the reprieve from his confusing thoughts. Because he never met Freud.

. . . Right?

"Are you doing well?" Angela asked, "I mean, recovery wise."

"Yeah, I'm on track to get out of here pretty soon. Thank God." He hated hospitals. "The only good thing is the pudding." He smiled lightly, "What have you been up to? Working on anything interesting?"

The group was quick to fill him in on what they had been doing. Apparently they discovered a skeleton from a few centuries ago and Zach and Bones were avidly discussing the alignment of the knuckle bones. Angela and Hodgins added their opinions here and there and Zach and Hodgins devolved into little spats every so often. Sweets tentatively put a word forth every now and again, not having too much to do with cases where the FBI was not involved. Booth allowed himself to fade into the background and simply watch them.

This was his world. Those other places didn't exi—

Fancy Victorian hotels, sewers, the Hyperion, the mansion, the flat and CEO's office all flitted through his mind faster than he could blink voicing fierce denial of his thoughts. He fought the urge to cry out in pain at the sudden onslaught.

"Booth?" Angela asked, making him realize that they were all looking towards him with concerned faces.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention," He apologized, hiding a wince "What were you saying."

"I wanted to ask, who are Connor and Wesley?" Angela repeated.

Booth struggled to answer for a few moments, trying to figure out what to say. He wanted to laugh. Booth knew he needed to lie, but not even he knew the true answer to the question. Not really.

"Old friends," He finally said at length.

"From the army?" Bones asked.

He made a slip-second decision, "No, before I went to war." There. He figured they wouldn't be able to find proof he was lying.

"I see, so your brain manifested images of your past friends as the neurons repair the pathways—" Sweets began, eyes alight with interest.

"Can we not say repair?" Booth asked wincing, "You make it sound like something's broken."

"Either way, the fact you chose those people to remember must have some significance," The psychologist continued.

"They were close friends, yeah." He spoke a little stiffly.

"And Kathy, Drusilla and Cordelia? Were they friends maybe . . . or perhaps old candles?" Bones asked after a few moments looking at him from the corner of her eye.

He choked on his pudding and gave her an utterly horrified look. The other scientists laughed. Misreading the expression on his face for embarrassment, Bones was quick to reassure him.

"It's perfectly natural, although psychology is a weak science, it would not be entirely unusual for you to have visions of those you used to have physical attachments to."

"Oh God," He said, looking nauseous again. Booth pushed his pudding away miserably. Hodgins was quick to scoop up the unopened one. "That would just be—" He frowned. Kathy was his beloved sister, the very thought was— He shuddered.

"Score!" Hodgins said with a smile. Nothing was like the pudding at the hospital. He wondered if he could buy it in bulk to bring back to his house.

"I'm guessing they aren't old loves then?" Angela said with a smile.

"No," He shook his head. "That would be just plain wrong."

Hodgins snorted into his pudding cup. "If your Cordelia looks anything like the celebrity, then I can't think of ANYTHING that could be wrong about that."

"The celebrity?" Booth asked with a curious expression.

"Come on, you know, Cordelia Chase," Hodgins said through a mouth of pudding.

"You probably know her, just don't recognize the name," Angela began, not noticing how Booth had frozen after hearing her full name. She held up a finger and began rummaging through her purse, "Hold on, I probably have a— Aha!" She said victoriously. In her hands she held a copy of _People's_ magazine.

She flipped through the pages quickly until she found what she wanted and passed the publication over to Booth. "She's been in a lot of stuff recently, big blockbuster films, but she originally starred in daytime soaps."

Angela was talking— Booth knew she was, but he can't understand the letters and syllables. His eyes are transfixed on _her _all-to familiar smile.

"_Teardrop Hollow_ is still on TV, right?" He faintly heard Sweets carrying on the conversation.

Her hair was longer than before.

"How'd you know about that, Sweets?" Bones asked curiously.

Her clothes were more expensive.

"Daisy likes to watch the soaps." The psychologist defended.

She was older, no longer the ex-cheerleader or starving actress.

"And you watch them with her?" Zack queried.

And yet . . .

"You're such a girl." Hodgins laughed.

Her smile . . . Her smile was the same.

"I think it's cute. You could pick up a tip from Sweets, Jack," Angela commented.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the beautiful woman in the photograph was _his_ Cordelia Chase.

His best friend Cordy.

He pulled his hands to his temples as his head began to throb painfully.

"Are you alright?" Bones asked, making him notice that his friends' eyes had turned towards him with concern.

"Yeah, just tired," He said offering them a weak smile.

"Well, maybe we should go," Angela suggested as she took her magazine back and rolled it up before placing it in her purse.

"We'll visit soon," Sweets assured him.

"Okay, I'll see you then," He smiled a little half-heartedly as he watched them leave.

He set his head back and sighed as he stared at the ceiling.

There was a perfectly logical explanation for all of this. His mind had created some sort of fantasy and pulled people he'd seen in passing. A beautiful actress for example. His stomach rebelled at the thought but he ignored the feeling. It made perfect sense, but . . .

It was the small things. The little, inconsequential details that were so specific the idea of it being a delusion seemed laughable. Then there was her personality— So full of emotions and rich in character . . . it seemed impossible for him to be able to create such and intricate and fully rounded person with all the unique tics and nuances in his head.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

Crazy, he was going crazy.

But . . . He didn't feel crazy.

He groaned in frustration

If it wasn't the delusions, then all the conflicting thoughts would drive him to insanity. Hopefully this was just an aftereffect of the surgery that would fade away with time. He pointedly ignored the heavy feeling in his gut that told him it wasn't the case.

* * *

**RE**view?

Well then, I'd love to know if someone actually read this . . . Angel has so few fans . . . Then again my LOTR Rurouni Kenshin crossover actually has readers, so maybe . . .

Next chapter next Friday, or the Friday after depending on response. It's written, just needs edits.

I think this is the shortest chapter I've ever posted . . .


	2. You Can Seem As Old As Your Omens

**It's Friday, and I'm here. Truly, this is about as good as I'm gonna get. **

**First things first, I want to thank my reviewers. I didn't really expect to get one review, let alone five!**

* * *

**Maplewolf**

**julianne**

**justanotherfr**

**ashes at midnight**

**Im dead inside**

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**Really, it makes me so unbelievably happy to know there are fans out there of Angel and Bones. :}**

**FINAL NOTE! This will be the only chapter, (probably,) that uses an dialogue and plot from an episode. It isn't really my favorite style. I just didn't really want to write my own plot for this. (The rest of the series will be incredibly original, honest!)**

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**I don't own the characters nor other affiliated materials. Just this fictional, non-profit story is mine. **

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_Chapter 2: Misery: You Can Seem as Old as Your Omens_

* * *

"I don't like cats and I hate clowns," Seeley Booth informed Dr. Sweets plainly.

The psychologist sat down across from him, making a small note on his clipboard. "Well that's consistent with the person you were before your brain surgery."

Booth resisted the urge to sigh. He was sitting in one of the two chairs across from the desk where Sweets sat. The two of them had been at it for hours.

"I _am_ the same person."

(Because he was. Of course he was. Who else would he be? _When an Irish brogue slunk past his lips to reply, he viciously stamped it down._)

Sweets nodded but gave him an open and understanding look, "After something as life-altering as a brain tumor, it can take some time to regain our footing. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Look, it's been six weeks since I put my brain box through the blender there, okay. I am back." Booth said, "Special agent Seeley Joseph Booth, at your service."

(He repeated the name again in his head wondering why it sounded wrong/_right_/wrong/_right_/wro—)

"Have you been in touch with Dr. Brennan since your release from the hospital?"

Sweets' question drew Booth's mind away from his identity issues.

"Huh?"

"Dr. Brennan, have you been in touch with her since your release?" The psychologist repeated.

Booth's mind scrambled to find the answer amid the crossed wired. "Uh, no. She's, you know, in Guatemala, digging up Aztecs."

"Very good," Sweets said, adding yet another note on his clipboard. Booth exhaled silently in relief. The repetitive nature of their session was very trying on his nerves. The stress of untangling three hundred plus years, (Hell was included in the count, _though he'd never been there of course_,) to find the right answers made him anxious and irritable. He was half tempted to pick-up the damn clipboard and snap it in half.

(But of course it wouldn't be as easy as breaking a pencil, he wasn't that strong anymore —_never had been_— it wasn't as though he could smash tables, break iron bars, destroy walls —)

"Will you talk to me about the people you confused Dr. Brennan, Dr. Hodgins and Dr. Addy with when you woke up?" Sweets asked.

There was a pause where Booth dithered.

"Uhm, yeah," Booth replied hesitantly. "They were friends from when I was a kid and teen." When first asked in the hospital, he said they were friends from before the war, but he'd decided to tweak it so it would be a little tougher to disprove. Kids made friends like fish breathed water. The idea of one of them figuring out that he was making it up was highly unlikely.

(Because he was making it up . . . right?)

"Were you close?" Sweets asked. When Booth hesitated again, he continued, "I only ask because I find it interesting that your mind brought forth those specific people."

"We were sort of close," he hedged, "I really don't understand it any better than you do Doc."

"Okay," Sweets said with a smile, setting the clipboard down, "I am certifying you as fit for duty."

"I am fit for duty," Booth said, inwardly exhaling in relief. He made it.

"That's what I'm saying," Sweets agreed amiably. "I'm glad the symptoms from the surgery have faded." He passed the reinstated agent back his gun and badge.

Booth nodded absently as he accepted the items.

"Me too." He bit back a dry, humorless smile at the words.

"If you want to talk about this, or anything at all, you know where my office is," Sweets reminded him.

"Thanks for the offer, but that's why God created Alcohol." Without another word, he gave the psychologist a wide smile before stepping out of the office with a light swing in his step.

His pace slowed after he left the federal building. He didn't quite feel like returning to his empty apartment at the moment, (he'd spent enough time there thank you very much.) After a couple seconds of thought, he got in his car and began driving towards the Jeffersonian. He knew Bones wouldn't be there, but he had the sudden urge to be close to her and if there was a place for that, it was the medico-lab at the Jeffersonian.

The lab was busy as it always was and he was tempted to go and say hi to all of his coworkers, but he found he didn't really have the energy at the moment. So without a word, he quietly slunk towards Bones' office. The squints were so occupied with their work that no one even noticed.

With a light huff he settled himself on her couch. He didn't bother turning on the lights. Instead he simply lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling.

(—_Besides, his eyes were much more suited for the dark than the light. Sunlight, even indirect beams, had always irritated his eyes. When he was younger, it was all because of his drunken debauchery and the hangovers that followed. Later on in his life it was more to do with the whole vam_—)

Booth squeezed his eyes shut and tried to banish the confusing thoughts.

Despite all his wishes and hopes, Booth's conflicting memories and thoughts had not resolved themselves with time. It had been six weeks since the surgery, and nothing was any different. He was nearly at his wit's end. Several times he'd picked up the phone with the intent of dialing the hospital and telling the doctors he was still crazy. But every time, the niggling feeing in his head won out. It was true that the feeling he got from these "memories" wasn't the same as the feeling he got from his hallucinations, but he wasn't sure how much he could rely on himself and his feelings anymore. But then what could he rely on?

He sighed and scratched his head.

The most concerning thing was the fact that the surgery had been a success.

The tumor had been successfully removed, so whatever going on in Booth's head had nothing to do with the cancer.

"_So am I just plain crazy then?"_ He asked himself while sighing. He didn't _feel_ crazy, but then again, what was crazy supposed to feel like anyways?

The work he did with Bones was important and that made him hesitate in turning himself over to the men in white coats. He didn't want to set himself back unnecessarily. Especially since, so far anyways, the "memories" were harmless. They didn't impair his judgment or impede his functioning.

"If it starts interfering," he said to himself, "then I'll call Sweets."

Until then, maybe he would just try and work it out on his own . . .

With that thought in mind, he allowed his eyes to shut and his strained mind to float.

His mind filled with images of dragons, slayers and Ireland.

* * *

He was dozing when the door to the office opened. It wasn't until he felt pressure on his chest that he startled awake.

"Woah— Booth?!"

He blinked furiously as he sat up. A wide smile spread over his face as he spotted his partner.

"Bones!"

"Hey!" She said before stepping forward to hug him.

"Hi there," Booth said and Bones laughed happily. When he pulled away he sent Brennan his biggest smile.

"Look at that, I'm reinstated on the day that you come home. That's the weirdest coincidence ever," He said.

"No, it's not even the weirdest coincidence today," She replied, making him raise an eye-brow curiously, "But if you were reinstated today why are you dressed like a furniture mover?"

"A furniture mover?" He asked, uncomprehending. Booth looked down at his jeans and t-shirt and realized that Brennan really didn't see him outside of his usual dress. He shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Well Sweets just cleared me for service. I've been off the job a while."

"I can see that," She said, her eyes on his stubble. He bit back a laugh. He knew she never meant to be mean by those comments. They were always just statements but nonetheless the blunt way she spoke was something he never realized he was missing.

(Thankfully it wasn't as bad as a certain vengeance-demon who —_never_— existed)

"You were just barely reinstated? What took you so long to recover?" Was that worry he saw in her eyes. He nearly teased her, but he hated when she was concerned about him. It made him feel inexplicably guilty.

"It was just bureaucracy, don't worry, nothing wrong with me. I'm 110%."

That drew a smile from her before she halted and asked him seriously. "You do know there's nothing more than 100%, right?"

Before he had a chance to respond, Angela entered the room.

"Hey, Brennan, _and_ Booth. _Together_. It's been a while," She said by way of greeting.

"Hey Angela," He greeted before allowing a slightly cheeky smile to spread over his face, "Guess who just got cleared for service?"

The forensic artist gave an amused smile, "Let me guess . . . You?" Her expression quickly turned serious, "That's really good, because there are a bunch of bodies buried under the Taversham fountain."

"How do you know that?" He asked curiously. If there had been a case, they would have already called him.

"Avalon told me," She replied.

"Who's Avalon?" Booth asked.

"Avalon is Angela's psychic," Bones said with that particular patronizing and dismissive tone that came out whenever religion or the supernatural were involved

"Psychic?" He asked. In seconds his mind was capsized by conflicting memories of psychics that he never met before. He did his best to stamp them down and stay focused on the present.

"Booth?" Bones asked, concern lacing her tone.

Right, he was Booth. (_Of course he was Booth.)_ What would Booth say? He loathed that he had to ask himself that, but the lines between all these people he never was (but always was, and had been) were blurring. It took longer than he should have, but he managed to assemble the appropriate response.

"Pfffffffft."

"See, even superstitious Booth doesn't believe in psychics," Bones said with a grin, her concern dismissed for now.

"That's interesting because she says that you two were linked in a very profound and spiritual manner," Angela said knowingly.

Bones looked awkwardly away for a moment and Booth gave her a confused and curious look.

"Pfffffffft." Bones eventually copied with a childish smile.

"Pfffffffft." Booth echoed.

"Fine," Angela said, though the knowing look didn't fade, "But Avalon also said she had insight into your guys' alternate lives." The artist shrugged her shoulders and left without another look.

Booth was clotheslined by the words "Alternate Lives." What did that mean? Was it possible that Avalon knew something of all these visions he'd been seeing? Could it be that the psychic was the genuine article?

(—_Not that there was such a thing as a genuine article because all psychics were fakes. _Including the one's he'd visited in Zimbabwe, and in Louisiana, Bohemia, Romania, Belarus, Istanbul, Tajikistan, Azerbai— )

He shook the train of thought away, resisting the urge to rub his throbbing temples. It was then that he noticed Brennan had her eyes trained on the carpet.

"Are you okay?"

"What? Oh, yes." She said somewhat lamely. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering."

After the silence had stretched on for longer than he felt comfortable with, he made a snap decision.

"Let's go check it out."

"What?" Brennan shook her head, "Why?"

"Six weeks Bones," He said, holding up the appropriate amount of fingers, "I'm going stir crazy here okay? C'mon let's do it."

His partner hesitated, but Booth knew he'd win this one.

"Can I at least take a shower?" She asked in defeat.

"Yeah I need to shave and suit up too," He said, biting back the shit-eating grin on his face at his victory.

They were back in business.

* * *

The black SUV ate up pavement as the pair drove towards the fountain.

"So, what have you been up to?" Brennan asked casually, glancing at her partner from the corner of her eye.

Booth shrugged lightly, "Nothing really. I spent a lot of my time with Parker actually." It was almost funny how readily his ex-girlfriend agreed to let Parker spend time with him. Booth supposed that after hearing he had brain cancer, she probably felt guilt about limiting his contact with his son. What a pity that it took something so serious to make her realize. (—It felt as though the Powers That Be were always making it so he never had a normal chance at raising a child. _By which he meant, the Powers That Never Were, because what the hell was he thinking? Besides, he only had one child._ Dark brooding eyes sprung to mind and he resisted a shiver—)

"I'm sure he enjoyed that," Brennan commented, breaking his train of thoughts.

Booth shrugged before changing the subject, "How were the Aztecs?"

The rest of the drive was filled with pleasant chatter about the small things they had missed in each other's lives. Booth was almost sad when the drive was over. He had missed talking to Bones while she was away.

Taking the equipment out of the car, Brennan quickly set up the strange device.

"It looks like a metal detector," He said.

"A metal detector that's more expensive than your car," Bones she commented distractedly. "It takes images of what's below and transmits them to this viewfinder here," She said while holding the miniature screen up.

"So this thing can really see into the earth?" He asked skeptically as he began to move the not-metal detector around.

"Yeah, a lot clearer than a psychic," Bones replied snorting as she scanned the small screen. She paused and turned to him. "You're dressed very oddly."

"What do you mean? This is regulation FBI." It was, right?

"Well what about the garish socks and the gaudy tie?" She asked, "What, you don't remember? You resist regimentation with these tiny symbols of rebellion."

Her clinical words made him want to smile, but he couldn't muster one.

"Nah, I remember. I remember, okay?" He just hadn't felt like wearing bright colors like that. He liked black. Something in the back of his mind (—instinct, common sense—_) _warned him against bright colors and standing out (—after all, he needed to be able to blend in with the night. _Why would he need to do that?—_) "I dunno, I didn't feel like it," He said finally. At her concerned look he elaborated, "Let me just re-acclimate myself at my own speed here, okay? What is that?" He asked, pointing to her viewfinder.

"Nothing. Because there's nothing here," Brennan said exhaling, "Because there's no such thing as a psychic."

Booth found himself agreeing.

"Wait . . ." She began fiddling with the device, a look of sheer disbelief on her face.

"What do you see?"

"The psychic was right," She said incredulously, "It's human remains. Lots of human remains."

* * *

Booth listened idly as Bones talked eagerly to the lawyer, Caroline Julian, about getting a permit to dig up the bodies. Booth wasn't as interested in the bodies themselves, so much as the psychic that led them there. The idea of Avalon being legitimate was beginning to seem more and more likely.

(A part of him —_that didn't exist_**— **was smug, because of course it was likely. It was entirely possible. He'd seen it —_Never seen it— _before.)

. . . Fuck.

"Listen," Booth said, trying to bite back the irritation he was feeling from his conflicting emotions, "Bones wants to start digging and I wanna go talk to the psychic who sent us here."

The lawyer held a hand up to stop him, "I did not hear psychic, I heard anonymous source," She corrected.

"Just get Bones the warrant that she needs so she can start digging," He said, exasperated with the bureaucracy.

He missed the good old days (—_which never happened_—) when he could ignore the law and do what needed to be done in the dark of the night by any means necessary.

The dark-skinned woman raised an eyebrow, "You _are_ keen to get back to work. Got something to prove?"

"Well it is plausible Booth feels the urge to prove that he's no longer brain damaged," Bones said thoughtfully. Booth felt his eyebrow twitch. Had he really missed her blunt and inadvertently rude observations? He wasn't sure.

The lawyer gave and amused smile, "You can start. I can get the warrant in ten minutes."

Despite what had just happened, a smile spread over Booth's face, "Yes, we're back!"

Brennan watched him with amusement, "You're the one who told me never to look happy at a crime scene."

He quickly calmed down and cleared his throat, "Right. We'll look happy after we find out who did this horrible crime and get them behind bars."

Stifling a grin, Bones replied, "All right."

* * *

The metal table in the interrogation room was cool to the touch and familiar. Booth allowed himself a small moment to appreciate being back in this room. Having said that, dealing with unwilling and difficult suspects was something he was ambivalent about.

The psychic shuffled her tarot cards and replied slowly, "It's very hard for me to explain my process."

"Well you're gonna have to do better than, 'I'm a psychic.'" Booth kept his tone purposefully blithe.

The psychic's eyes narrowed. "You're the man who was in a coma, aren't you?"

His inwardly hesitated at the mention of it. Outwardly he forced himself to shrug noncommittally.

"Would you pick a card please?" She asked as she spread the deck out.

He stared at her for a long time before finally complying.

It had been decades, (—_never_—) since he had his fortune read.

He really wanted to ask her about what she had said to Angela about alternate lives. He was all-too aware of his partner on the other side of the glass, and the rolling camera so he stifled the urge.

She flipped over his card of choice.

"Oh, the Wheel of Fortune," She said holding up the card knowingly.

"The appearance of the Wheel of Fortune shows that change is not only likely to happen, it is certain to happen, and soon," She informed him, "The nature of that change and the effects it has really depend on how much you understand the concepts of Fate, and whether or not you can prepare for it. Generally the change shown in the Wheel of Fortune is a dramatic change from the established order."

"M—miss Harmonia," He interrupted, cursing himself for stuttering, "I'm not here for a tarot reading."

(—Looking into the future was something he'd had all too much experience with. Drusilla's mad ravings and Cordelia's screams filled him mind—) He shook the memories (—_delusions—)_ from his head.

She gave him a look full of empathy, as though she knew about the mental game of table-tennis his brain was playing. "No matter which way the Wheel of Fortune throws you, it's impossible to try and change it. Recall that in every crisis lies opportunity. When you've been swept in new direction, know that every path leads somewhere, even if you don't know where it is," She said.

"I need to know how you knew those people were buried under the Taversham fountain." If he ignored the trembling of his hands, would it go away?

"Such events are just out of your control, and if you can accept that then the ride gets a lot easier," She continued as though she couldn't hear him.

He forced himself to stay calm. "Miss Harmonia, I—"

"If you struggle against the Wheel it will crush you," She finished softly.

He tried vainly to suppress the violent shudder that ran down his spine as she looked at him sadly.

"I'm sorry."

"We're done here," He said, standing up quickly. "She's not going to talk," He said to the glass.

He tried to tell himself that the disconcerted feeling that'd slowly been sinking into his bones since he woke up was just a side effect of medication and weariness.

* * *

Booth leaned back in the large and comfortable office chair as he watched the psychologist pace the length of the conference room. There were only three people in the room, he, Dr. Sweets, and the branch Lawyer, Caroline Julian. They were discussing what they each made of the psychic Avalon.

"Avalon Harmonia is her professional psychic name. Born Stephanie Susan James. No criminal history. No known criminal associations, and in my professional psychological opinion, not a nut bar," Sweets said conclusively.

"Law abiding and sane does not explain twelve buried skeletons," Caroline pointed out sarcastically from her spot across the table from Booth.

"She honestly thinks that she's psychic, I mean, she _really_ does." Booth emphasized, leaving out his personal opinion of the matter. By this point he honestly had no clue how he felt about anything.

"If she's not psychic then she's involved. I don't believe in psychics," The lawyer said, simplifying the entire situation.

"Well, neither did I." Doctor Sweets hesitated, "Do I. Present tense," He corrected.

That made a smile spread over Booth's face, "She got to you, huh Sweets?"

The psychologist chewed his lip for a moment before deciding to divulge, his thoughts. "Okay, check it out, my Dad's watch goes missing three months ago."

"Right," Booth says, playing along.

"I have no idea where it is. She tells me it's in the pocket of a jacket that I forgot I owned in the unclaimed goods at the FBI drycleaner."

Caroline looked dumbfounded and Booth sighed.

"Yeah, that's exactly how I felt," Sweets said, looking slightly smug at Caroline's expression.

"She totally got you," Booth said with a slight smile.

(—_Because Booth didn't believe in psychics_. Angel was another matter, _not that Angel existed_—)

Booth rubbed his throbbing temples. He was really beginning to get sick of it all.

"Well what about yourself?" Sweets asked, "I heard she gave you a reading when you were interrogating her."

Booth winced, "She just said nonsense, really.

Sweets gave him a feline smile, "Your body language is telling me that she said something substantial,"

"Look, she said the generic 'Big change is going to come,' thing that all psychics pull," Booth defended, "And you know why they all pull it? Because it works. Because change is _always_ coming."

"Okay," Sweets held up his hand in surrender, "I'm just saying she helped me find my watch, that's all."

Caroline grumbled at the psychologist left the room. Her disgruntled expression made Booth smile faintly, but it was cut off by the sound of a call from Hodgins.

* * *

Booth watched Avalon, Angela, and Bones chatter as he sat on the little patio chair above the room. The women were near the door, probably talking about the case or perhaps making plans to go to a bar.

Booth was exhausted both mentally and physically by the end of it all. The stress of working on a case and dealing with his conflicting memories (_—delusions—_) a part of him corrected again, and emotions was more taxing that he'd expected. The fact that this was his first case back after the brain surgery would have made it stressful enough without all the other bullshit piled on top.

Thankfully it was all over now.

The case had come together with stunning clarity, first with the revelation that Avalon's sister was among the bodies in the dirt, and second with the discovery of a cult being involved.

Booth shuddered at the thought of cults.

Then again, his opinion was colored by a chance meeting with Charles Manson, (—_whom he'd never met_ —) in the seventies.

That guy gave him the creeps.

Finally, the assault on Bones and the final arrest of the cult leader concluded the mystery. He was just glad Bones was safe and sound. It felt like she got into dangerous situations more often than Booth did, and he was the FBI agent. (_—_She reminded him of a certain spitfire blonde. _Who definitely did not exist_—) He banished his contradictory thoughts and instead resumed watching the group of ladies.

He smiled softly as he watched Bones' face light up. Truly, he was grateful she was back.

His eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted to the psychic. It turned out that she hadn't exactly divined the location of the bodies, but there was plenty of other outstanding evidence that suggested the contrary of his natural inclinations.

This was what led to him watching Avalon and debating. Should he talk to her, or just pretend he didn't known about what she had said about him? He could just let her pass by and tell himself that he had no idea what she meant about alternate lives and the wheel of fate. He could blame it all on the brain surgery . . . He could continue to blame it all on the brain surgery for years to come if the memories— (_delusions—_memories_—delusions—_mem_-)_ his brain corrected, didn't stop. In his stomach he felt as though they wouldn't just dissolve on their own. In fact, if anything, the more time that passed since his surgery the more vivid and realistic it all seemed. The more he attempted to keep himself grounded the worse off it became. Trying to keep separate what was real and what he knew logically couldn't be real seemed to make the line blur even more.

But could he deal with her answer if she said that he indeed was—

He didn't know. But he did know he couldn't continue living like this- second guessing his every thought, loving women who didn't exist . . .

He needed to know. By God, he needed to know.

Summing up his strength, he walked over to their little group and cleared his throat, making the three women turn to him curiously.

"Uhhm, Avalon?"

"Yes?" She asked, and from the look in her eye, he knew that she had been expecting this.

"Could I talk to you privately for a moment?" He asked her.

Without a word, the psychic moved towards the area where he had been seated before.

"Oh Booth!" Angela said delighted, "I knew you'd come around."

He gave her a weak smile before walking away, missing the concerned expression on Bones' face.

He sat down heavily, watching Angela and Bones muted conversation.

"What can I help you with?" Avalon asked with practiced calm.

"I just—" He found himself at a loss, suddenly feeling so lost and young. (Something that was ridiculous considering how he was hundreds of years old —_was he?—)_

He clasped his hands together so tightly he wasn't sure if something would break.

"I just need to know if something's real."

He knew that if she was what he thought she was, then Avalon would know what he meant.

"About _that_ then?" She asked vaguely.

He nodded and she closed her eyes for a moment.

Silence reigned and sweat began to bead on his forehead and gather in his joined palms.

"Yes." She said finally after a few moments. "It's real." Her eyes opened, showing pity.

Booth ignored the pity, his mind in another place. An empty floating feeling began filling Booth's body. Was he relieved to know he wasn't crazy or madly upset that he wasn't crazy? He didn't know.

"You mean I am— I mean _was _An— " He choked on that last word.

"Angel, champion of the powers," Avalon said weightily, making his head feel like it was full of lead, "You are what you have always been— Just something more as well."

He knew it was true, but somehow, hearing that name said aloud confirmed everything with such finality that it left him stunned. He felt unprepared for the truth, even as everything slid into place. He remembered Liam, and felt like Liam, because he had been Liam— a small part of him still _was_ Liam.

He remembered and felt Angelus, though less sharply thankfully.

And Angel . . . His body felt so heavy with his last moniker that he thought he'd collapse. The thread was untangled but the mess left behind was darker and lonelier than it had been before.

"Booth?" He was startled out of his inner musings by the soft, concerned call of his partner and he started. The agent was suddenly aware that Bones and Angela had joined them on the patio and that all of them had their eyes on him. Belatedly, he realized the steady stream of tears that were falling down his face.

"Booth, are you okay?" She asked again.

He hastily wiped the tears away from his face and gave them a watery half-smile that felt vacant.

"Yeah, I'm fine," He lied. "I'm still just a little emotionally unstable from the surgery."

That was something he didn't think Booth would ever say, but in this moment, he could have cared less.

Because he wasn't Booth anymore, was he? Not entirely . . .

Angela and Brennan exchanged looks and he knew that neither of them bought it.

Brennan hesitated before she said, "Alright, but let me know if you need something."

"That goes for me too," Angela quickly added.

He felt some level of relief that they had dropped the subject and he nodded absently. Deep down, he knew he could never fully confide in either of them again. He wasn't the same person he was five minutes ago. The realization of loneliness of the entire situation slowly spread through his body and sank deep into his pores. It wasn't fair, God, it just wasn't.

"I think I shall take my leave," Avalon said with a slight incline of her head.

Booth grabbed her wrist before she could leave.

"D—do you know why?" He asked. Why they returned his memories, why they decided to plague him so after he'd earned his freedom, why _now_, just why, why, why, WHY, _WHY, __**WH**_—

Avalon shook her head apologetically.

"No, I don't," She replied, "And please know I am sorrier for that than I have ever been in my life. Find strength. You won't always be alone."

With those final words, the psychic departed.

There was silence in her wake. He knew that Angela and Brennan were both looking at him with concern, but in this moment he couldn't bring himself to care. All he wanted right now was to sit in the dark and drown his sorrows in alcohol; his long-time tradition for coping, though it's been a lifetime since he'd done it. He barely bit back an unsteady laugh at the thought, because there were no forthcoming thoughts to refute the statement as there had been in the past few months. Because now he knew the truth.

"What— what did she tell you?" Angela managed to ask. She knew better than to ask about what Avalon had revealed, and yet she couldn't help herself.

Booth paused for a long while, and just when the forensic artist was certain he wasn't going to answer, he opened his mouth and replied.

"She said I would grow up to be a clown."

It was a lie. Such a thick, saccharine lie that spoke nothing about the sudden stabbing pain that had taken residence in the agent's eyes.

Despite that, Angela took it for what it was and gave a shaky, fluttering laugh. "That is terrifying."

Brennan didn't pretend to play along.

"You'll be okay Booth," She said, placing her hand on his shoulder, "The side-effects will fade over time."

He gave her a grim smile in return and chose to say nothing to that.

Because he knew that this change was here to stay.

* * *

**Somewhere in Hollywood . . .**

* * *

Cordelia's eyes snapped open from her sleep and she screamed. Pain drove into her brain like screws and she bit back the silent whimpers and sobs that built in her chest.

She was vaguely aware of the security guards and maids hovering anxiously above her bed, but mostly she was possessed by pain and the images she had seen in her head.

A vision. She hadn't had one of those in five years. She had seen the capital building . . . And Angel! She had seen Angel!

He was alive . . .

Tears of sheer happiness began falling down her face at the sight of him once more. It had been six years since she'd seen him. She'd thought he was dead.

Once he pain had abated enough, she opened her eyes once more and found herself surrounded by about five of her house staff, all looking very concerned.

"Water," She croaked, setting off a flurry of activity.

"Miss Chase, what happened?" Her head bodyguard, Gerald asked urgently, kneeling at her bedside. A maid returned with a tall glass of water, much to Cordelia's relief. He helped her up, and she gave him a small grateful smile.

"Migraine," She said, taking large gulps of water.

"A migraine?" the maid echoed in surprise.

"Do you need to go to the hospital? An ambulance should already be en route," The bodyguard explained.

"What?!" She asked, looking surprised, "No, I don't need an ambulance, what I need is enough advil to kill an elephant," Her voice was a little strained but her face was serious. "Cancel that ambulance," She ordered.

"Yes Ma'am." The bodyguard nodded towards one of the other staff members that was standing around.

Cordelia waited as patiently as she could for the maid to bring back her medicine, but the throbbing in her head made it difficult. Thankfully, it didn't seem that any of her staff looked hurt or offended when she snapped. Finally, the maid returned, and Cordelia knocked back a handful of small pills. The bodyguard looked like he wanted to say something about her dosage, but he pursed his lips instead.

She focused on her breathing while she waited for the drugs to take effect. The throbbing in her head muted, and she turned her attention back to the people congregated in her room.

"I'm alright, honestly," She said in response to their concerned expressions.

"For now perhaps," Her bodyguard muttered, "Shall I plan a doctor's appointment for you?"

"Look, seriously, it's not a big deal. I used to get migraines all the time," She said, "They went away for a while, but now . . ." Her sentence trailed off as she recalled the images her mind showed her.

"Now, I guess they're back."

That and more, apparently.

None of them looked very at ease when she ordered them out of her room, but they obeyed her and she found herself alone once more.

Cordelia stared at the ceiling and sighed. She loathed to think about what the return of her visions meant in the grand scale of things. Questions and concerns swirled around her head. All of which revolved around Angel . . . She knew that she wouldn't be able to focus until she rested, so she forced herself to lie still and waited for sleep to come.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow she would take action.

* * *

**I repeat!**

**FINAL NOTE! This will be the only chapter, (probably,) that uses an dialogue and plot from an episode. It isn't really my favorite style. I just didn't really want to write my own plot for this. (The rest of the series will be incredibly original, honest!)**

**Kay, see you all next Friday for an important meeting. :}**

**Re**view?


	3. Strange Life but its What You decided

**Happy somewhat-Friday! I'm glad to see you all again!  
**

**ABOUT CORDELIA! Remember that whole, 'Ascension into a different plane to be a higher being?' We're just going to pretend that didn't happen. Seriously. I hated that plot point, although I agree season 5 was fine without her. . . Some of you may be thinking I'm very lazy for not dealing with this, but if I were to, y'all would get a paragraph of, "I'm glad the PTB sent me back to earth," "Yeah Cordy, me too." So Cordelia was there, but everything went as cannon states . . . because I said so. I promise I won't fuck with canon like this again, honest . . .**

**BTW I have a poll! Who should Angel/Booth end up with? Cordelia or Bones? I can't promise to go along with it, but if there is an overwhelming response . . .**

* * *

**Thank you to all the reviewers! I'm really delighted to hear from you~**

**Im dead inside**

**ashes at midnight**

**julianne**

**call me Milo**

**Beautiful-Tyrant77**

**Azaren**

* * *

**This chapter was supposed to be 5,000 words. But then I was like "People are reading this!" So I made it bigger and better and stuff. We're near 9,000 now.  
**

**Disclaimer in previous chapters.**

* * *

_Chapter 3: Strange Life I Live but its What You've Decided_

* * *

Brennan stood anxiously in the young psychologist's office. Her obvious nervousness was the first thing that concerned Dr. Sweets, but upon realizing she had come here willingly, he braced himself for whatever serious matter she was wrestling with. It must have been truly dire if she turned to him.

"I have to admit, I was more than a little surprised to see you made and appointment with me, Dr. Brennan," Sweets said genially, keeping his whirling thoughts to himself.

"Normally I would never look towards the soft sciences for answers however, your insights have proven to be perceptive on more than one occasion," Brennan spoke quickly; a nervous habit of hers, Dr. Sweets noted.

"I try," he said with a smile, accepting her awkwardly framed compliment. "So what would you like to talk about?" He asked the burning question on his mind. He dearly wanted to know what had the forensic anthropologist so shaken.

Her eyes darted to the corner of the room. A sign of discomfort. "I don't know," she said.

"Okay, when you're sure, just let me know," he said patiently.

"No, I mean, I don't know anymore." She sighed, "It's like I don't know what I can trust any more."

"What do you mean?" He asked, bemused.

Brennan sighed. She couldn't even believe she was here. "There's all these little details about Booth that I never knew about him before, but suddenly they just sprung up!— Like, did you know he can speak multiple languages?"

Sweets raised an eyebrow. "I'm assuming you mean aside from high school Spanish?"

"Japanese, Chinese and Latin."

"What?" Sweets blurted, breaking his calmness, "Are you certain? His file says nothing of this."

"I am quite certain" Brennan said stiffly, "We were trying to interrogate a family in China town and Booth managed the entire conversation in what sounded like perfect Chinese."

"And you had no previous knowledge of this skill?" He checked.

"No. I distinctly remember that one of our past cases we had to interview an individual with minimal skills in English, and Booth was very frustrated."

"That's incredible," Sweets breathed out.

"What do you make of it?" Brennan asked nervously.

"I don't know," Sweets said eventually. "It's possible he was hiding the talent before. It raises many questions . . . Like why is he choosing to show them now."

"And why hide them in the first place," Brennan added, miserably.

"I'm uncertain; I'd have to do a more thorough study." Sweets shook his head with dismay.

"Yeah well, good luck with that. He's become much more secretive recently. I'm worried about him Sweets," Brennan admitted eventually, "Ever since he spoke with Avalon he's been quieter, borderline depressed."

"Do you know what Avalon told him?" Sweets asked.

Brennan shook her head, "He won't tell anyone."

"Do you think it had something to do with his coma?" Sweets suggested.

"His coma?" Brennan asked. She hadn't contemplated it. "He told me he didn't remember dreaming about anything."

"He told me something similar," Sweets nodded, "Despite that, it wouldn't exactly be out of Booth's character to lie about something if he thought it would make those he cared about concerned about him. That might explain the secretiveness."

"I see what you mean," Brennan said, sighing. That sounded like Booth. "So now what?"

"Now we wait." Sweets leaned back in his chair. "Until Booth feels like reaching out, there is nothing we can do for him aside from being there if he needs us."

Brennan nodded, though it did nothing to soothe the pit of anxiety that had pooled in her stomach.

* * *

After the initial shock and depression that came with the recollection and confirmation of his memory, Booth managed to sort things out and compartmentalize enough that he was able to function in life without becoming the brooding mess he had been in the past. Seeing as the memories were here to stay, (that and ignoring it made the entire thing more complicated, conflicting and overall, _worse,)_ Booth had decided to try and reconcile the two parts.

Perhaps one could say Booth was a little more serious and quiet, or perhaps one could say Angel gained people skills and knew how to make jokes. Booth wasn't really sure what he which he would say. Though he didn't give it much thought; Booth had a job to do.

Work had been Booth's saving grace. He didn't have time to mope or brood, because he needed to save lives. He'd already received a few comments about being a workaholic, but he couldn't bring himself to see that as a bad thing. It allowed him to continue living as Booth and resist the urge to find out what had happened to his friends from Angel Investigations. He knew he really shouldn't. They surely moved on with their lives, like he had, and he had no right to barge back in. (Especially because his company tended to attract misery, though he hoped it had worn off.) Aside from that, he wasn't entirely sure if he was ready to step back into that part of the world. He wasn't what he used to be, he couldn't deal with the supernatural with the same (relative) ease he once did when he was still a vampire. (And there was no way in hell he ever wanted to go back to that lifestyle.) He'd Shanshu-ed. He did his time, and now he was going to enjoy being a normal, human being. Who used to be a vampire. The niggling in the back of his mind that warned him he wasn't nearly as done as he liked to think was something he practiced ignoring with devotion.

He knew that Bones had noticed the changes that were going on with him, and part of him ached to reach out and smooth her worried brow. While it was true that the friendships he made with everyone at Angel Investigations were deep and strong, that didn't mean that the ones he'd made as Seeley Booth meant any less. He still cared about Bones and the squints just as much.

Despite this, the more sensible side of him knew he could never disclose what was really happening to him. As loathe as he was to admit it, he wasn't the same person he was before the tumor. He wanted to let them know the truth, he wanted to regain the closeness between he and Bones that was slowly slipping away, but to do so would not only possibly endanger their lives, but potentially alienate him from them permanently. . . That was assuming they didn't lock him up in the asylum and throw away the key. He would have a hard time even proving his story without a lot of proof. That implied entering that world again, and dragging them into it . . . No, he couldn't risk any of that. It meant too much.

Whatever the question was, it was because of the brain surgery. And that was all.

Having reconciled the various parts of his personalities, he found another trouble arose in hiding his abilities.

Booth tried his best to keep any of the extra talents he'd gained from his previous lifetimes separate from this one, but it was hard remembering what Booth was supposed to be able to do and what he wasn't.

How was he supposed to remember that Booth wasn't the one who had knew the nitty-gritty details of the boxer rebellion, (having lived through it,) when Hodgins' knowledge about history of that battle was so skewed? The surprised looks he had garnered from the squints about his comprehensive knowledge on the subject made him want to both laugh and cry.

He was drily thankful for the brain surgery because it gave him an excuse most of the time for explaining the new aspects of himself. Not all the time. Being able to speak several new languages was something he'd had difficulty explaining.

How was Booth supposed to recall what languages he could speak? Already he'd revealed Chinese, Japanese, and Latin. Both Angel's life and Booth's life were his. They had melded into a continuous stream of memories. He was largely unsuccessful at keeping the two part of himself separated when he was still unsure of the truth. Now that he knew it was real, it was pointless to continue fighting with himself.

So, when such a thing occurred, he brushed past whatever new facet he revealed. Shrugs and noncommittal replies became his default.

Hodgins low mutters about the government inserting a chip in his brain hit a little too close to home and he had to resist snapping every time.

Still, although he avoided thinking about such depressing things, he did have to wonder why now of all times, the Powers That Be decided to restore his memories. Was it just coincidence? Was the tumor some kind of block in his mind? Was it an accident that it was removed? Still the PTB would know if that was the case. A deep sinking feeling had settled in Booth's chest and festered for weeks now as Avalon's words came back to haunt him.

"_The appearance of the Wheel of Fortune shows that change is not only likely to happen, it is certain to happen, and soon."_

"_If you struggle against the Wheel it will crush you_."

Well, he'd survived this long. What was one more cruel twist of fate?

* * *

Cordelia was wondering for the nth time why she had decided to come to Washington D.C. Ever since she'd had the dream/vision she'd been floating like a ghost. She couldn't settle her inner demons until she knew for sure if there was a reason she had seen D.C. Until she knew for sure that Angel was or wasn't—

After waking up after her vision, she found that the nervous anxious energy from the night before had left her body. She began to question whether or not she really had seen him or if it was a dream. She didn't know.

Then again, her eyes had continued to drift to the bottle of ibuprofen on her dresser throughout the day, dreams didn't usually come with crippling headaches . . .

After tossing and turning with the problem, she had her pilot fuel up her personal jet and made the long trip to the country's capital from Los Angeles.

What was the point in being rich if you couldn't flaunt it?

The relief she'd been hoping for when she arrived never came, and it left her emotions more turbulent than before. She needed some kind of conclusion, and just coming to Washington D.C. hadn't granted it liked she hoped it would.

After settling into her hotel room and getting the okay from her body guard, Gerald, that everything was safe, she found herself at a loss. Now what? Uncertain about what to do, she'd settled on the obvious choice of shopping to fill her time. If the Powers had a reason for bringing her here, which it was entirely possible, (though unlikely) that they did not, she felt relatively certain that they would have no problem in letting her know what needed to be done. Hopefully they would do so without giving her a crippling headache or anything to do with all things big/bad. She hadn't needed to stake a vampire in five years, and she hoped to keep it that way . . . Having said that, it didn't mean she didn't carry a stake with her everywhere she went.

She gave a long-suffering sigh. Gerald, who was normally so attentive to his client's needs, was unable to give her the appropriate attention due to the extreme volume of bags that filled his hands. She was grateful for once. Though she did appreciate his sympathetic ear after a long day, he tended to worry too much about her and she didn't feel up to talking about it.

Cordelia glumly decided to head back to her hotel. Maybe she should just head back to L.A. She doubted she would find what she was looking for.

After all, he was dead.

And what was she hoping? That she would just find him on the street? There were dozens of people! Each person busy with their own lives— some heading to the capital, others to the airport, she guessed and—

—a sudden movement of a man in a suit with styled brown hair and a low brow caught her eyes before disappearing around the corner.

Her eyes nearly fell out of her head.

"A—Angel!" Before she even thought about what she was doing, she shoved her shopping bags onto her bodyguard and began running down the street. Her heels clicked loudly against the concrete and she pushed her way through the crowds, her heart beating loudly in her chest. She rounded the corner and felt dejected when she'd realized she'd lost sight of him. She scanned the sea of heads feeling desperate and lost. Breathing in and out heavily, she let out a loud call.

"Angel!" She cried out again.

A man in a suit about fifty feet from her stopped. His head tilted slightly to the side. She began running towards him again.

He turned around and Cordelia's eyes ran frantically over his body.

The same build, though a little thicker than she remembered. He was older, clearly in his mid-to-late thirties. He was tan, so very tan. A sun worshipper. She almost frowned when she saw that. But his eyes, those dark brown eyes and stylishly mussed hair—

She stopped a few feet away from him, hovering in indecision.

His eyes ran over her, and recognition lit up.

"Cordelia," He said with a soft smile. A smile she knew. She closed the gap between them and tossed herself at him.

He caught her with a light oomph, but he didn't say anything as she squeezed him fiercely. He responded, though a little gentler. He was going to have bruises on his ribs.

The starlet pulled back eventually, her eyes still running over his every feature. "Angel?" She asked tentatively.

"Yeah," he said softly, "It's me."

Laughter and tears burst out from her at the same time, startling him. He moved in to comfort her but the next thing he knew she was unloading a flurry of punches.

"Why didn't you tell me you were alive?!" She punctuated each word with a jab at his shoulder and chest.

"Woah, Cordy," He said wincing, "I'm not as tough as I used to be."

"You're human!" She exclaimed. It sounded accusing, incredulous, and incredibly happy all at the same time. He rubbed his head awkwardly. From the corner of his eye he noticed the crowd gathering and the tittering.

"_Is that Cordelia Chase? Who's that guy she's with? Is he her boyf—"_

"_It looks like her—"_

"—_ink she'd give me her autograph?"_

Lightly grabbing her elbow before she could land another hit, he carefully steered her away from the crowd. "Let's go somewhere a little more private."

She nodded, though her lips were pursed, and allowed him to shepherd her towards the diner he and Bones frequented. It was around eleven so there were still plenty of seats; the lunch-rush had yet to hit.

He ushered her towards a booth in the very back of the room. He was careful to position her so that her back was towards the door and anyone else in the room. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted by one of her fans.

They sat, and for the next five minutes they stared in total silence, simply drinking the other in.

She was older than he remembered. Her body had finished maturing and the woman who sat before him now was neither the teenage princess nor the actress he remembered. Having said that, her beauty had certainly not faded. It had merely . . . changed. She did her make-up differently and her hair was longer. The shape of her face was a little more defined and she had more freckles than he remembered. He made careful notes on each and every change. She was studying him just as intently. He wondered what she saw.

He wanted to say something, but he found himself witless.

"Can I get you folks anything to drink?" The waitress asked, "Oh Seeley, it's good to see you," She said recognizing the agent.

"You too Candice. And just coffee please," Booth replied. He hid a grin as he noticed the dumb look on Cordelia's face at the use of his name.

"Who's your— Oh my God," The waitress dropped her pen.

"Hi, I'd like a diet coke." Cordelia said shortly, nowhere near being in the mood to tolerate fans.

"Umm right!" She said quickly bending over and grabbing her pen before making a note. Booth grabbed her arm before she could scurry away.

"Hey, Candice," Booth said, "I'd really appreciate if you kept her being here on the down low."

She toyed with her lip and he knew he'd guessed right that she was about to run back into the kitchen and start telling everyone about the starlet.

"If I do, could I get an autograph and picture?" She asked shyly.

"Anything you want, just don't tell anyone," Cordelia said warningly. The girl nodded and then ran off to the kitchen.

Booth stared after the girl before shaking his head.

"Seeley?" Cordelia asked with a smile, and all at once, the doors between them were wide open again.

"Yeah, I know," He said scratching his head.

"You Shanshu-ed then?" She asked knowingly.

"I did," he nodded, "Though I didn't realize at first."

She quirked a curious brow.

"I didn't remember anything about being a vampire until a couple months ago."

Her face grew white at the news. "I suppose the fact that I received the first vision in five years yesterday says something as well."

He sighed, "That would be a safe bet."

Cordelia let out a groan, "Why is it that _they_ can interrupt our lives like that?" she asked, upset clear in her voice.

"I don't know," Booth replied. He'd already dealt with the angst that came with the revelation that something was probably brewing, in the past two months.

He held up a hand to stop Cordelia from replying as he saw Candice make her way back towards their table, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand.

"Here you go!" Candice said with a cheery grin as she placed their drinks on the table, "Are you two ready to order?"

"Are you hungry, Cordy?" He asked.

"Well, I'm on a super strict diet . . . Which is why we'll split an order of cheese-fries. Make sure I don't eat too many," she said warningly to Booth.

Booth smiled lightly. There was that bossiness.

"What she said," he told Candice who was watching their interactions with an interested expression. When he stared at her a moment, she remembered herself and nodded before walking away.

Booth shook his head lightly. He'd be lucky if the entire diner didn't know by the time they left. He sighed and turned back to Cordelia.

"I'm glad to see you though," He said honestly as he stirred his coffee idly. "Despite the whole Powers business."

"Yeah, you too," She said with a megawatt smile. It quickly turned into a warning look, "Don't think I haven't forgotten that you never let me know you were alive."

"I've only known for two months Cordy," He said. "I wasn't even sure any of it actually happened for most of that time."

She bit back the happy sigh that built in the back of her throat. She'd missed hearing him call her 'Cordy.' Instead, she focused on what he said. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I thought I was going crazy," He spoke bluntly, "Before this, my memories were of growing up, living a fairly average life as a normal human. Then I went in to get brain surgery and _wham!_ Instant vamp memories."

"Yikes," Cordelia said.

"You're telling me," He said with a tired sigh.

"Brain surgery, huh?" She said concern in her eyes.

"Tumor," Booth said simply, "It's all gone now; I'm ship-shape and back to work."

Cordelia didn't even pretend that she wasn't relieved by the news. "So what kind of work have you been up to, _Seeley_?" She teased.

"That's agent Booth to you," he said pulling out his badge for her to see, "I work with the FBI now."

"Figures you're still helping the helpless," she said with a grin.

"Yeah, I suppose so." He hadn't really thought of it that way before.

She took the badge into her hands, turning it over with her slender fingers. "Wow. Pretty official huh? So what kind of work do you do for them? Listen to people's conversations? Stop bombs? Kill Terrorists?"

"Nothing like that, NSA does most of that," He informed her with a smile. "No, I work with a team of anthropologists to solve crimes— homicide generally."

"Anthropologists?" She scrunched her nose.

"They study bones –"

"Wait!" She exclaimed, "I know this one! Isn't this a book?"

"Er, yeah," Booth shrugged, "My partner, Temperance Brennan, writes books about her experiences as a forensic anthropologist."

"I remember! I read one of those on a plane once!" She smiled slyly, "Wow, you're pretty famous, Angel."

"No, they're not really about me." He shook his head and changed the subject, "But _you_ made it big from what I hear," He said, referencing her stardom.

She grinned. "I did, didn't I?"

"How is a star's life treating you?" Booth spoke with a lightly teasing tone.

"Eh, it's kind of boring, but a lot simpler than staking vamps and plotting to kill the latest big-bad." She played with the straw of her soft drink.

Booth took a moment to appreciate how bright and healthy she looked. Wealth and success suited her, he decided.

"It's good to see you made it big Cordelia." He smiled genuinely.

"Yes, I like to think of it as my own Shanshu. My rebirth into the life I was always meant for," Cordelia smiled back.

He was happy she had found some happiness, although that happiness was tainted by the fact they were back here, where they had been over five years ago, being played by the Powers . . . again.

"Hey," She snapped her fingers in front of his face, "No brooding! I haven't seen you smile this much since . . . —well, aside from the Jasmine and Angelus stuff— like EVER. So don't be breaking the streak now!" She demanded.

Angel gave her a sheepish smile. She had a point. God he'd forgotten how much he'd missed her and her Cordelia way of doing things.

Candice approached their table once again, and the pair became quiet.

"One order of cheese fries, anything else I can get the two of you?" Candice asked.

"No, that'll do it," Booth said, "Thank you Candice."

"Sure thing!" She gave a bright smile.

"She kind of reminds me of Harmony," Cordelia said, watching the peppy waitress walk away. Booth shook his head as he thought of his traitorous assistant. In the end though, it was thanks to her predictably fickle nature that they'd been able to get a leg up in the final battle.

"So, do you know what everyone else is up to?" He asked taking a sip of his coffee.

"Well, Gunn took over Wolfram and Hart after, well, you know. Spike's in Europe working with Buffy and her new Scooby gang, and Fred is up in space right now working on the international space shuttle," Cordelia listed, as she ate a couple fries.

Booth choked on his drink.

"Did you say _Fred?!"_ He asked in shock. "What happened to Illyria?"

"Well, after the battle, Illyria used up so much power she had to enter hibernation mode. Guess who showed back up," Cordelia said, her voice conspiratorial.

"Fred?" His voice was soft and awed.

"Fred." Cordelia confirmed.

"Oh God," He exhaled heavily. The choice he made that day that inevitably led to Fred's loss of self still haunted him. But now she was miraculously back. "I never thought . . ."

"Yeah, you and everyone else." She ate a few more fries, "Though we were all a little too surprised with still being alive after that freakish battle to really look into it that heavily at first. It looks pretty permanent, but Fred doesn't think it'll last forever."

The FBI agent let the thought settle in his mind.

"Connor—" Booth voiced the thought that was sitting heavily on his mind the entire time.

"Safe and sound." She assured him.

"Thank God." He sighed. Nothing had tempted Booth as much as finding out what had happened to his son. The only thing that stayed his hand was the knowledge that he would be unable to resist finding and seeing his son in person if he knew where he was.

"He's finishing school up. He's become a lawyer— still fighting the good fight."

"That's good to hear. He's so old . . ." Booth groaned as he did some mental math.

"I know what you mean," Cordelia sighed.

They were silent a moment before Cordelia started laughing. Booth looked towards her curiously.

"Do you remember when he I bought him that little baby duster to wear?" She asked, eyes watering with laughter.

Booth remembered the ridiculous looking miniature black jacket she's excitedly shown him. He began chuckling as he remembered the way his son looked. He remembered being torn between delight and horror.

Looking back at it, he couldn't help but think that he and Cordelia would have been great parents. They could have given Conner a good life. Most definitely an unorthodox one, but a happy one.

They would have made sure.

He banished the thoughts. There was no use thinking about that. He should just be grateful that he got to make up for it a little because he was able to grow up with Parker.

"Oh!" Booth started, "I almost forgot to tell you. I have another son." He began digging through his pockets.

"You have a kid!" Cordelia exclaimed in surprise.

"Yep." He pulled out the picture of a smiling blonde boy from his wallet

"Wow, so you were married then?" She noted his lack of wedding ring.

"No, yet another child born out of wedlock. We share custody." Joking about it made him feel a little better. He paused as he thought. "Well, Darla and I crashed plenty of weddings and stole the veils and things. We made-out a lot sure, but I don't think it was legally binding . . ." He trailed off, finally noticing Cordelia looked at him with a disturbed expression.

"Too much detail?" He asked hesitantly.

"Umm yeah." She giggled at the appearance of the awkward people skills. He wasn't nearly as bad as he once was, but he still seemed to overstep the line every now and then. She thought it was kind of cute in a strange way. When they were first starting Angel Investigations, his awkwardness had been comforting because it made him seem more human.

"I want to meet him!" She said eagerly. Suddenly, she had to urge to meet the different pieces of his life.

"And I want you to meet him," He returned with a smile, "He's with his mom until the end of the week. I'll have him for the weekend though . . . Will you be here that long?"

"Definitely! I'll stay around to meet your son!"

Booth's brow furrowed. It was Wednesday. That would be several days away.

"Are you sure you can take time off work to spend too much time here, are you working on any big projects?" He asked.

"No, we're in between seasons in LA, so I've got a bit of free time. I was supposed to do a few commercials but I put them on hold. It isn't every day that I get to meet up with friends who I thought were dead!"

He gave a wry grin. "It's probably been a several years since that last happened."

She smiled back. Her face grew dismayed as she reached towards the fries and found the dwindling pile.

"Angel! Have you been eating any of these?!"

Booth's emotions had been on a rollercoaster and he truly had no appetite. "I've had a few," He lied.

"If I get fat I'm blaming you. You'll have to buy me a whole new wardrobe!"

"Sure thing Cordelia," He said with a grin. She'd always been a slender thing, ever since he met her. He doubted a plate of cheese fries would be her undoing.

"So," Cordelia began, "When can I meet this doctor lady I've heard so much about?"

"Bones?" He answered, a little startled by the change of topic.

"Is that what you call her?" She asked.

Booth shrugged a little, "Yeah, it's a nickname I guess."

"_Ooh_, a nickname, huh?" Cordelia asked with a cat-like grin.

"It's not like that," Booth defended, "Temperance is just a mouthful."

"Uh-huh," she hummed, "I'm sure." The way he spoke of his partner was certainly warm. If he did really like-like her, then that made Cordelia want to meet her even more.

"Like I said, when do I get to meet her?" Cordelia continued.

"Well, I mean," He stumbled over his thoughts. He didn't know if he was ready for both of his lives to come together like that. "She's working now so—"

"After work then?" She pressed.

"She may already have plans—"

"Tomorrow then?"

Booth stared at her determined eyes and caved. He knew she could be impossibly stubborn at times. He wasn't sure if he could handle the idea of her and his new life colliding, but looking at her pleading excited eyes, he knew he simply couldn't say no.

"Fine," He sighed, making her give a little cheer. "You can come with me now. I have to visit the Jeffersonian anyways."

"Yes!" She grinned widely, having won her way.

"It'll be a short visit though, because all of us are supposed to be working."

"Sure, sure," She agreed. Her smiled was almost worth the headache Booth could feel brewing.

"Candice, can we get the check?" Booth called to the passing waitress who quickly brought it over. She kept it in her hand though instead of passing it to him automatically.

"Sure thing . . . Can I get my picture and signature?"

'_Definitely like Harmony'_ Booth thought rubbing his head.

"Okay, but try to make it fast, I'm already running a bit late."

She let out a squeal of delight and practically tossed the check to him in excitement. Cordelia rolled her eyes discretely before standing and moving next to the waitress.

"Would you?" Candice held the phone to Booth who rolled his eyes before acquiescing.

After a picture, an autographed napkin and several minutes of fan-babble, the two finally stumbled out of the diner and into his car before heading towards the Jeffersonian.

* * *

The drive over to the Jeffersonian was filled by Cordelia's genial chatter. Booth as surprised by how much he missed just hearing her talk. When it got to the subject of men, he couldn't resist asking . . .He didn't know if he needed to look somebody up in the F.B.I. database.

"So . . . any men in the famous life of Cordelia Chase?"

"No, nix nil nuthin!" She exclaimed. "All of them have been losers, shallow and dull and gah! None of them have anything in their heads. It's so annoying. I forgot how shallow and vain people are." She paused and finished quieter, "How vain _I _used to be."

He couldn't stop the slight sigh of relief and the relaxation of his body as he heard she was involved with anyone. Her history with men was definitely not the best . . . he included himself in that count. Though her last comment has him placing a reassuring hand on her arm.

There was no need to say anything, she smiled gratefully. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before she shifted back into her chatty mode.

"Well, whatever, I don't care about men! They're stupid! Though don't think I missed that look yours when you heard I wasn't dating anyone," she said wryly.

"Look, what look?" He made a look? He had no idea honestly.

"The disappointed 'Oh no, you mean I can't interrogate people and embarrass Cordelia? Whatever shall I do with my time,' look. Don't try to fool me mister! I know how you think!"

He grinned at her, and she beamed back.

They arrived at the Jeffersonian sooner than he'd hoped. He really wanted Cordelia to meet all of his new friends, but he wasn't so sure about his new and old world combining.

The guard let them in with several hushed words from Booth and a few pictures with Cordelia. (The level of her fame still amazed him.) Booth moved past the glass doors and into the heard of the Anthropology lab.

Cordelia peered around in excitement and curiosity. The instruments and skeletons held little interest to her. Though she did spy the porch they had above. They had couches and a few coffee tables set up in an area that overlooked the lab. To the side there was an area thick with trees giving it an outdoorsy feeling.

"Ooh Angel! I need to get a patio like that!" She exclaimed in excitement.

He stared at her with humor. "You don't already have one?"

"Not an indoor one!" She replied. "What a great idea!"

"Hey Booth, what's—" Hodgins started but immediately cut himself off when he saw Cordelia. "_Helloooo_!" He swallowed thickly. "Oh God. Is this our new case?" he asked, and Booth big back a laugh at the blatantly hopeful expression he found there.

"No, I'm just visiting." She smiled brightly, and Hodgins practically squeaked.

"What's going on Hodgins? Oh Booth! What's— OH MY GOD! It's Cordelia Chase!" Zack announced his presence ineloquently.

His shout drew Angela and Brennan straight to the entrance and all four of them stared in surprise at her presence.

"Is this our new case?" Brennan asked, pushing her way through Hodgins and Zack.

"No, I'm just a friend. I wanted to see where he worked." Cordelia smiled again, nudging Booth in the ribs.

"I didn't know you were friends with Booth," Angela stepped in, making it clear she was going to grill and scold him for not letting her know he had a famous friend. From the looks on Hodgins and Zack's face, he had a feeling they were on board. The only one who didn't look totally smitten by her was Bones although she was smiling earnestly.

"Like oh my god, I loved you as Charisma Carpenter, the single doctor with too much heart in '_Teardrops Hollow!'_" Angela oozed, "I cried so much at the end of the last season when you held the cancer patients hand while he died, oh my gosh you're just so good at acting."

"I enjoy your work as well," Brennan said with a smile, "I especially enjoyed the subplot in regards to the unclaimed baby in the N.I.C.U. Although I feel I must tell you that several of the x-ray scans shown were incredibly inaccurate, for instance—"

"Sweetie," Angela broke in, "I don't think she has any say in that."

Cordelia looked a little surprised by Brennan's style of speech but she went with it; it reminded her of Fred. "I'm glad you like the show, I think."

Booth cocked an eyebrow.

"_'Teardrops Hollow?' _Really? You don't seem like the type to watch soaps, Bones," He teased.

She shrugged her shoulders, feigning casualness. "Sometimes they're on when I channel surf, it isn't as though I follow them."

Booth laughed; he should have known that Bones was a closet Soap junkie.

"Hey! Angel!" Cordelia scolded, "You say Soaps like they're a bad thing!"

"No, they're totally fine, quality television . . . Aired during the day when most people are working . . . Because it's such quality television," Booth said with a teasing grin.

Her mouth fell open in a little 'o' and she smacked his shoulder with her purse. "Angel, God you're so rude! Clearly you've never caught an episode; it's quality TV!" She exclaimed.

"Hey Cordelia, be a little more gentle, I'm not as tough as I used to be. Your nails might pierce a lung." He complained, though he was still smiling.

A brimming smile suddenly spread over her face. All of them were a little taken aback by her quick-changing moods.

"Wow Angel look at you!" She said with a smile, "All joke-y and laughter-y. I'm so proud!" She pretended to dab her eye with practiced drama.

"Umm, Miss Chase? Excuse me, why do you keep calling Booth Angel?" Angela asked the question that had been on all of their minds.

"Uhh," she froze.

"Angel? Is that a stage name?" Zack snorted.

"If we google, that, are we going to find naughty sex tapes from your college days?" Hodgins asked waggling his eyebrows

Booth rolled his eyes. "Maybe after pawing through the Victoria's Secret Catalogue, but by that point I suspect you'll have lost interest in me."

Cordelia held her hand in the air, "Nice, Angel!" He indulged her with a smile. Perhaps he was preening a little bit, showing off all of his people skills.

"Well, to be with someone like her, I'd let her call me anything she'd want." Hodgins whispered and made several gestures. It wasn't as quiet as he thought it was and Angela nearly facepalmed in embarrassment.

"Anything?" Cordelia asked, "Okay, PIG." She snapped before she spun around and smiled at Angel. He repeated the hi-five gesture, enjoying her energy.

Hodgins and Zack were staring at each other in wonder. "Did I just get burned by Cordelia Chase?"

Booth stared at the two of them blankly.

"Is this what you've been dealing with since I've been gone?"

"You have NO idea." Cordelia sighed. Booth patted her on the arm sympathetically.

"You never explained," Angela started, "The name I mean."

"Uhh," Cordelia said again, ineloquently.

She was rescued from answered by Booth who smoothly stepped in to answer. "It's a childhood nickname."

"You were childhood friends?" Brennan noted curiously.

"Yep. Best friends," Cordelia confirmed, playing along and sending a beaming smile towards Booth who returned it warmly.

Brennan suddenly felt a hot uncomfortable feeling curl in her chest. She tried to shake the mysterious sensation off.

"Wow, I can see you have _a lot_ of catching up to do." Hodgins whistled and waggled an eyebrow.

Both of them looked at each other and Cordelia snorted once before falling into a fit of laughter.

Booth shifted awkwardly as the squints started giggling at the starlet's reaction.

"What's so funny," he muttered as he straightened his cuffs, trying to appear indifferent.

"Oh God!" She exclaimed as she tried to smother her smile. His lack of understanding and petulant expression just made her laugh even more.

"What is it?"

"I just realized, that if we wanted to, you know, _do the horizontal tango_, we could now. You know, like the clause no longer applies."

Booth stared blankly before chuckling once and shaking his head, "Jesus Cordy," he stated simply.

"It just sort of hit me, I was like oh my God, we could totally do it right now."

The other four were now staring at the duo with concern and extreme envy, in some cases. The uncomfortable feeling coiled tighter in Brennan at the open talk of sex.

Booth just rubbed his forehead before glancing at the squints. He felt a headache coming on. "Can we not talk about this while I'm at work?"

"Puh-lease Angel, like I would ever-"

"Ahem." There was a small, ladylike cough from behind.

Booth twirled around to see Camille, the supervisor of the Jeffersonian standing behind him with an arched brow.

"Camille!" he exclaimed, "Uh what a surprise to see you?"

"Why is it a surprise? I work here," she stated, making his face heat up slightly.

"And who is our guest here, is she a part of a new case?" she asked, turning towards Cordelia. Her brow was furrowed as she looked over the other woman.

Booth sighed, "No, she's just a friend; she wanted to see where I worked."

"Do you think that's appropriate?" Camille asked archly.

"Why is it that everyone thinks I'm a part of some dastardly murder case!? Do you people ever get normal visitors?" Cordelia exclaimed, drawing attention to herself.

There were a few moments of silence, as it clicked in Camille's mind.

"Does that answer your question, Cor?" Booth asked with a smile.

"Oh— Oh my." Camille's mouth fell open. "You're Cordelia Chase!"

Cordelia whipped out the smile that had gotten her that Colgate Commercial

"It's a pleasure to meet, you, and you are . . ."

"Dr. Camille Saroyan, I am the director here at the anthropological branch of the Jeffersonian."

"It's nice to meet you," Cordelia said courteously.

"You as well. No one told me you were coming by," She said looking at her employees with a raised brow.

"It was sort of an impromptu thing. I practically had to twist his arm to get him to bring me," Cordelia nudged Booth with her hip and he nudged her right back, smiling when she fell forward from his weight. She scowled and swatted his arm with her purse.

Camille was momentarily taken aback by the familiarity the two displayed

"Uh, Agent Booth never told us he had such a high-profile acquaintance," Camille said after a moment.

A wry smile spread across the starlets face as she turned away from her friend. "Angel never was a chatty one; especially when it comes to his personal life."

"Angel?" Camille furrowed her brow.

"Oh sorry, I meant Booth." Cordelia frowned.

"No it's okay, you can call me Angel," Booth assured her before turning towards Camille. "Angel's an old nickname from when I was a kid."

"That sounds like quite the story," Camille noted inquisitively.

"You have no idea." Cordelia smiled. "Are you sure you don't want me to call you Seeley?" She was slightly teasing, but he knew she was serious in her question. It made him feel warm that she was willing to change if it mattered to him.

"No, that would be too odd," he said shaking his head. "You've always called me Angel, you don't need to change."

Her smile was bright. "You won't get confused?"

"No, I'm a master of many thing, having more than one name is something I've had years to perfect," he said sarcastically.

Her smile lit up the room, and the two of them just stood there, basking in the very real presence of the other for a few moments. Booth nearly forgot they had an audience. He turned slightly awkwardly when he noticed all of them were watching them blatantly. They weren't even pretending to not. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Why don't we continue catching up in my office," He suggested after an awkward few moments. Though he wasn't an official employee at the Jeffersonian, Camille had provided him with the fourth office room on the upper level to do paperwork in. Bones, Angela, and Camille herself used the other three. The fourth should have gone to either Hodgins or Zack, but when she had told them she was making a decision and the two bombarded her with pleas and bribes, she ended up giving Booth the office— Much to his amusement.

"Actually, I think I'd better run. I sort of ditched my security when I saw you." Cordelia said, looking a little sheepish. "I texted him while we were driving, and he's probably outside the building right now."

"So he's already called off the National Guard then?" he teased.

She smiled but it quickly dimmed.

"What's wrong?" He asked, noting her upset. When wetness appeared on her face, he carefully shepherded her away from their crown a little so that they had a little semblance of privacy.

"I don't want to leave, I mean, I can barely believe it," she began quietly, "I never thought I'd see you again, and you're just here and well and alive and—" Tears welled up.

"Hey, it's alright." He soothed, "I'm here, I'm alive. It's okay."

"For now maybe," She mumbled looking at the floor.

If they were brought together for a reason, it certainly wasn't so they could reminisce about old times. They both knew that.

He gently grabbed her chin and tilted it up. "Hey whatever happens, we'll deal with it, just like we always have." He said with more bravado than he felt, though it seemed to pick up Cordelia's spirit.

"Right," she exhaled and smiled. She suddenly seemed to remember herself as she patted down her hair and checked for smudges in her make-up. "Of course you're right."

He smiled calmly at her.

"Alright, well, I'll see you tomorrow. Uhh, can I swing by around lunch?"

He furrowed his brow. "Wouldn't you prefer if I picked you up?"

"No, it's better if Gerald _thinks _he knows where I am. It keeps him calm," She said dismissively.

"Gerald?"

"My bodyguard," She clarified.

"Of course. Can't have strange federal agents whisking you off to God-knows where." He teased, enjoying the sparkling of her eyes.

"You bet, besides, I want to see this place in action! I mean, do you really solve crimes just by looking at the skeletons?" She asked, sounded excited.

"That's more Bones' level of expertise. I'll have to ask Dr. Saroyan. If she doesn't mind if you peek in for a–"

"Come whenever you like Miss Chase, the doors are always open for you!" Camille cut him off. Her and the rest of the Squints had moved up the ramp so they could hear their conversation and apparently had been listening in the whole time. Booth sighed.

"Great!" She beamed, "I'll see you then, and Angel?"

He turned to face her straight on.

She reached up on her tiptoes and gave him a tight hug.

"I'm glad you're back."

"Glad to be back." he whispered back.

He watched her as she walked down the stairway and out the glass doors. She waved once more before stepping in the elevator and out of sight.

He smiled faintly after her. He hadn't realized just how much he missed her until now.

"Sooo," Hodgins spread out the word as he walked up to Booth, "Cordelia Chase?"

Booth shot them a lightly annoyed glance. "Don't you all have something better to do? Like skulls to examine or dirt to collect?"

"Ah, ah, ah." Angela held a hand up, effectively stopping him before he made a move to his office. "You can't just walk in here with an A-list celebrity like Cordelia Chase and expect us just to drop it."

He hesitated, "There isn't really anything to tell."

"How did you guys meet?!" Angela pounced,

"I told you, we were childhood friends."

"Oh! In the hospital, when you said Cordelia after waking up, you actually _did_ mean Cordelia Chase, didn't you?" Brennan realized.

"Yeah, I did." Booth scratched his head.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Angela asked furiously.

"Well I never really knew she grew up and became famous," he said shifting uncomfortably.

"You never saw her on T.V?" Angela asked skeptically.

"I never really watched the soaps, and I don't know, maybe I saw her, but I didn't really connect her to my Cordelia. It's been a long time since I saw her," Booth explained.

"Still, you could have told us after I showed you the magazine," Angela said, still sounding a little cross.

"Honestly, I wasn't planning on even bothering her," Booth said scratching his head, "I mean, she had her new life. It was an entire coincidence that she saw me in the streets."

"Wow. Talk about the chances," Hodgins said.

Booth frowned. The chances were indescribably small. The thought of it being a coincidence wasn't even worth seriously considering, and the idea that the Powers had nothing to do with it was laughable.

"Yeah, and now?" Angela pushed even more.

Booth stared at her, unsure of her meaning. "Now what?"

"I mean it's clear that you guys are still really close, even after all these years," Angela said, "According to the tabloids she's single so . . ."

Booth shook his head. "I don't think either of us is remotely ready for anything like that. I mean, we barely even discovered the other person still existed." He said mostly to himself. At Angela's smirk he was quick to add on, "And besides, there are a lot of other things to consider."

"You didn't seem to be too concerned about that when you were talking earlier." Hodgins snorted. Booth glared at him.

At the agent's scowl, Hodgins continued, "What? You were talking about having SEX in front of us."

"What?!" Camille exclaimed, "When?"

"Earlier, you missed it," Zack informed her.

Booth shifted even more. He noted Brennan in the corner who was watching everything with her sharp blue eyes, but not saying anything for herself.

"That was an old joke," Booth explained, "It doesn't really make sense unless you were there. Out of context, it sounds a little bad."

"A little?" Zack asked with a snort.

Booth sent him a dirty look, and was slightly please when he younger man quelled.

"Anyways I was telling the truth; we really are just friends." He said, shrugging his shoulders, "We were just really close during some really tough times in both of our lives. It changes a person, makes them close."

He noted Brennen looked markedly more comfortable, which made him happier. The question of why she was uncomfortable in the first place was filed that away for further reflection at a later date.

In the meantime, he fully planned to dodge any and all questions the squints had for him.

* * *

**Hope you liked this week's installment~**

**If you're like, 'Why isn't Cordy on a higher plane?' then you didn't read the first authors note . . .**

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	4. It was Easy Coming Back to it

**sorry for the delay folks! I had finals and AP tests, but I'm done now! Just a few more hoops until I'm done! :}**

**Disclaimer is in previous chapters**

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* * *

_Chapter 4: It was Easy Coming Back to it_

* * *

It was Friday and Booth had made plans with Cordelia to meet around four o'clock after work. Which was why he was unprepared for her arrival at eleven in the morning when he and the squints were on their first break.

"Cordelia?" He started in surprise as he saw her figure enter the lab. One of the interns let her into the main pen. He and the team were seated on the patio on the upper level, and they all watched her look around before spying them.

"Angel!" She exclaimed in greeting, her smile wide. In moments she was climbing up the stairs, seemingly unhindered by her tall wedges and the large bag in her hand.

"Morning!" she effused.

"Uhm, good morning," he greeted, still a little taken aback by her unexpected appearance.

She greeted the rest of the scientists in a similar fashion.

"Did you want some coffee Cordelia?" Booth asked.

"Sure," She said smiling.

He left her to chat with the squints and prepared her a cup of coffee. The machine was in Dr. Saroyan's room. He hesitated before making her coffee the way he remembered her liking it. When he returned, he saw her gesturing animatedly, making everyone laugh. It always amazed him how Cordelia had the power to make an entire room at ease. She had really grown into her skin. It had only been two days since she'd first arrived and she had made fast friends with the members of his unofficial team. She'd managed to make an appearance at the lab both days. Booth tried to stay professional; he planned on meeting Cordelia at the elevators, maybe let her say a quick 'hi' to the squints before leaving. Getting her in and out quickly, but that quickly turned out to be more difficult than he'd expected. Because without fail, one of the squints would spot her and engage her for a half-hour conversation at least. On the plus side, while waiting, he'd managed to finish a truly remarkable amount of paperwork.

It would have been easier for him to keep his business and personal life separate if all the squints, (Camille included!) would stop trying to buddy up with Cordelia.

. . . Only Bones remained reserved. Even now he noticed her, watching instead of participating. It stood out even more when contrasted with the genuine happiness of the people around her. He frowned as he saw that she was faking her smiles. It made him wonder what was going on with his partner. Perhaps she was going through something in her personal life. He made a mental note to find out later. For now, he went over and sat back down after handing Cordelia her drink.

She smiled in thanks before taking a sip. "It's odd having _you_ get _me_ coffee."

He shrugged before mentioning what was on his mind. "I wasn't expecting you until much later . . ."

"Oh! Right, well I just had to give you something and I couldn't wait," She said before placing her coffee on the table and turning towards him with a serious expression.

He was surprised and amused by her determined expression.

"Here," she said promptly, sticking out the bag in her hands. He took it graciously and peered inside.

"Pastels?" he asked in surprise. Inside the bag, there was a box of a colorful assortment of pastels, (expensive ones at that,) and a large sketchpad.

"Yeah." She nodded. "I nearly bought you a set a long time ago but then I— well, I got distracted," she said, not going into the details of the painful story. He didn't need to angst over what had happened. "I really wanted you to have them, and when I saw them again, I just _had_ to buy them."

"Thanks Cordelia," Booth said a little awkwardly.

"You're welcome, that isn't your only gift though," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "I'll be your first model."

Hodgins choked on his coffee as Booth smiled wryly.

"Oh really?" Booth asked with a grin at her behavior.

"Naked?" Hodgins asked.

"Ew! No!" She exclaimed making a face, "Why do you think I wore such an expensive outfit today?" She gestured to her long flowing indigo sundress. A crème halter top was coupled with a brown belt that led into deep blue chiffon. The hem was a high-low revealing the top of the front of her thighs before tapering down to the floor in the back. Clunky gold bangles clicked every time she moved her hands and there was a complex pendant on her neck.

"Well, you always wear expensive outfits Cordy," Booth said slowly.

"Not this expensive," she said.

"Clearly you should have known better," Zack teased with a smirk.

A pensive expression grew over Cordelia's face. "Unless you think you should draw me naked," she said after some thought. Now it was Booth's turn to choke on the coffee. After thumping his chest a few times he cleared his throat.

"Uhh, I think clothes would be just fine."

"Great! Where do you want me to sit?" Cordelia asked, poorly concealing her smile at his reaction. She was already straightening herself up.

"Right now?" He asked hesitantly.

"When else? When I'm sleeping?" Cordelia shook her head. "Like no."

He winced at the reference to Angelus and the drawings he'd left Buffy.

"I'm kind of working right now," he said.

"Is that what you're call it?" she asked gesturing to him sitting on the patio.

"You can take a break and draw Miss Chase," Camille allowed, "As long as we all get to see the final picture."

"Camille—"

"An hour or two won't hurt," the director said, cutting off his protests.

"Booth the artist?" Brennan pondered aloud. "That would be a strange skill to have in regards to your preexisting skill set."

"I'm not that good," he mumbled. Maybe he should tone down his drawing.

"Booth, be more positive" Angela said from the side, "How are you supposed to draw something beautiful if you're thinking negative thoughts, huh?"

"You had better make me look amazing," Cordelia said half threatening, as though she knew what he was thinking.

Maybe he'd just have to do it straight up. What was the harm in them knowing he had a bit of talent as an artist anyways? He wasn't that amazing or anything.

"Okay," he agreed finally, giving Camille a light glare for getting rid of his excuse.

Camille simply grinned and walked away. "Come on everyone, there is work that needs to be done. Booth will still be here when we get back."

Booth felt marginally better without the presence of his friends around. Having different pieces from the two worlds of Angel and Booth being plucked out at random and combined still made him nauseous.

"Wow, look at them all go," Cordelia remarked as she watched the scientists go back to their stations. A small wave of scientific chatter floated up towards them and then right over their heads.

"I know." He knew exactly what she meant.

"They're like the Scoobies 2.0."

"I call them 'Squints,'" Booth said, sharing a grin with her as she laughed.

"Okay where do you want me," she asked.

"That depends; do you want it in color or black and white?" he asked, pulling the plastic off of the large sketchpad.

"Ooh one of each!" She said excitedly.

He rolled his eyes inwardly. Of course. Why pick one? He had a feeling that it had been a long, long, time since Cordelia had to pick just one item between two things. He'd bet she had those shoes in three different colors at least.

"Alright then I think I'll do the black and white one first. Why don't you stand?" He decided on doing a simple body drawing. He'd leave a complex background for the colored piece.

"How should I be?" She asked standing up. Even as she spoke, she had begun striking poses like she had clearly grown used to. He frowned lightly.

"Photography poses aren't always the same for art," He explained.

"Take off your shoes," he directed. If she wanted (demanded) him to draw her, he was going to do it his way. He was slightly surprised that she obeyed him. Then again, with all the different photographers she'd worked with, he figured she had learned when it was necessary to listen.

She stood barefoot and waiting.

"Alright, turn to the side a little."

She slowly began rotating until he held up a hand to stop.

"Now place your left hand near your neck."

The starlet obeyed.

"A little lower and a little more gentle on the touch," he continued, "Lighten the contact of skin."

She adjusted again. She was still pressing too hard on the hollow of her neck. He strode towards her, startling her slightly.

"A little more like this," He said, moving her arm more towards the center and pulling her elbow back to minimalize the contact between her hand and chest so that they were barely touching. There was still something off. He ran a critical eye before he noticed the large pendant and the chunky bangles. Without a word he began removing the bracelets from her wrist except a thin gold one that hung from her lay hand. Walking around, he then unlatched the necklace and placed it on the nearby table. When he turned back he met her eyes, a little surprised to see how wide they were. He smiled slightly and walked back towards his chair.

He cleared his throat, "Okay, now just tilt your head towards the floor a little." He settled back into the artist's mind frame instead of focusing on the light blush on her face. "Too much, pull back a little— Okay perfect."

Pulling his chair a little closer he opened the sketchbook to the first new page and selected the black pastel. He did a few practice strokes, toying with the thickness and darkness until he had a feel for the medium.

Turning to the next page he glanced up, happy to see that she hadn't moved.

He created the line of her dress first, paying special attention to the folds in the light fabric.

"You seem to be taking this seriously," Cordelia observed after a few minutes.

"Well, if I'm going to do a portrait for the great Cordelia Chase, I should do my utmost best," He said with a slightly joking grin.

"Have you done this a lot?"

"No . . . not with willing sitters anyways," he replied honestly, trying not to dwell on the slight paling of her features.

"Oh . . ."

Booth loathed the sudden uncomfortableness that stole through the room at his words. He awkwardly amended his statement.

"Though I did used to do this to my sister."

"Sister?" Cordelia asked, the surprise clear in her tone.

"Yeah, Kathleen," He couldn't stop the smile, "She used to sit for me when it was raining outside."

Cordelia was smiling.

"Though this is the first time I've drawn a friend like this," He said, making her smile even wider.

"What was she like?" Cordelia asked.

"Well . . ." Booth stopped drawing for a moment as he threw his mind back about two and half centuries. "My memories before meeting Darla are a little fuzzy but, I remember bits and pieces."

"I'm sorry," She apologized and he surprised her by laughing. Before she could get huffy about him laughing about her apology, he quickly reassured her.

"They weren't really good memories," He said, "I wasn't exactly a saint before I met Darla."

"You were a rebel?" She raised a brow curiously.

He snorted, "As much as a wealthy, fairly uneducated Irishman can be," he said with a dry smile, "I was a partier."

She laughed, "Really? I'm having trouble imagining that."

"What, you don't think I can have fun?" He challenged, looking up from the pad to meet her eyes.

She said nothing, only raised an eyebrow in disbelief. He shook his head and kept sketching.

"Anyways, I didn't get along very well with my parents but Kathy, she was my favorite." A smile spread over his face at the mention of her. "She was curious and excited about everything. And for whatever reason she thought I was the greatest person in the world." He shook his head ruefully. His memories of her were greatly tainted by her blood on his hands.

"You should draw a picture of her sometime," Cordelia said casually.

"Yeah maybe," he said softly before turning back his attention to his drawing.

He smiled a little at how good it felt to draw like this again. It had been a while since he'd been able to really just focus on the art of things. Angelus used his art skills to torment people, and since then, Angel had lost pretty much all of his will to do it unless it was needed for work, like to draw a suspect of item. The only stage in his life he had really just enjoyed the art was when he was still Liam.

He's always liked the beauty in things. Mostly women. That was half of what made him the rancorous and difficult boy.

He just liked pretty things.

Beyond that though, Ireland was the perfect landscape, and his sister was his favorite sitter.

Coming back to the essence of it, back to the art, made him feel . . . new.

* * *

Camille herded the scientists to their regular work spots before returning to her office. Angela though quickly went back out to talk to Brennan. She found her friend staring up at the patio.

Angela turned towards there too. Booth was carefully removing Cordelia's necklace and bracelets before arranging her body the way he wanted it. It seemed like such an intimate moment. Angela looked away to see that Brennan was looking before quickly turning away. She felt sympathy towards her friend. She long suspected that Brennan and Booth had feelings for each other. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that they would be a really great couple as long as they could get over a few of the taller hurdles. She didn't know what kind of relationship Booth had with Cordelia Chase, but it was clear to see they were close. The question now was how close exactly . . .

"He works fast," Hodgins commented as he looked up from his microscope.

"Jack!" Angela snapped.

"I hadn't considered the idea of art being a way to sway women," Zack pondered aloud.

"Zach hand me the glue," Brennan said distractedly, "Besides, the history of artists and their allure to the opposite gender has a long history, dating back to the early Classical era." She paused as she began assembling the pieces of the skull, "Of course how strong of an allure depends on the monetary status of the artist largely."

Angela snorted, "No love for the starving artists!"

"That's a given," Hodgins quipped.

* * *

After about twenty minutes, he had the general lines of her shape and he went on refining them and thickening certain areas. When he was moderately happy with that, he focused on shading, specifically the areas around her face and hair and the folds in her dress. He was so focused on his task he didn't notice Angela creeping up behind him until she spoke.

"Oh my God, Booth!" She exclaimed, making him jump. Thankfully, the pastel hadn't been touching the portrait when he startled. He sent her a light glare.

"Don't scare me like that!" He snipped, a little unhappy to be interrupted from his work. He had really felt in the zone.

"This is so beautiful Booth," She said softly as she scanned the linework.

"Thanks," He said, uncomfortable at the admiration in her eyes. "It isn't done yet, I need to shade a little more of the dress."

"Bren! Come and see this!" Angela called down to the lab, effectively calling all of the squints out, even Camille.

"No way." Booth quickly shut the sketch-pad and pulled it away from the other artist's hands.

"Can I stop?" Cordelia asked. Her arm ached from holding it up for so long.

"Yeah, I got what I needed," He said. Even if that weren't the case, he doubted that he would have been able to keep working now that Angela had seen. He knew she was just dying to show it off.

"What is it?" Brennan asked as the other four arrived back at the patio.

"His drawing is so amazing," She effused.

Booth was slowly backing away from them, keeping the pad clutched to his chest.

"Come on, show them," Angela pleaded, moving closer to him.

He shook his head.

"The deal was that you got to draw Miss Chase, and we would get to see it," Camille reminded him, "Even if it sucks," She teased.

"It isn't finished yet," He offered weakly.

"Booth . . ." Camille said in a tone which brooked no arguments.

Reluctantly he handed the pad to Angela's expectant hands. The scientists and Cordelia all crowded around her as she carefully pulled back the first two pages of the large sketchbook.

"Oh wow . . ." Camille said.

"Holy Shit." Hodgins summed up.

Cordelia's mouth fell open as she saw the figure on the page.

The simplicity of the drawing was truly breathtaking. There was nothing else on the page besides Cordelia. Her colorful dress had been transformed into a subtle and elegant cloth that fell to the floor in waves. Her bare feet and nearly empty wrists made her look simple and raw. Her hand was pressed to her chest delicately, and her dark hair fell around it like gossamer. The expression on her face was warm and subtle. Her beauty was muted but also poignant. Her body looked as though it was introverted, her head tilting down and her arms pulled in, but it seemed to convey a sort of self-reflection.

"Oh Angel it looks so great!" Cordelia squealed before she ran over and hugged him.

"I'm glad you like it," He said smiling a little.

"I never knew you could draw like this," Brennan said as she continued to look over the smooth lines.

"I don't really draw very often," He said avoiding their eyes.

"I'm serious Booth! This is really amazing!" Angela spewed, "You've been holding back. I didn't know I had a fellow artist in our midst."

"This is very impressive Seeley," Camille said, taken by the beauty. She wondered if asking him to draw her would be considered unprofessional.

"It's really not that amazing," He said, taking the pad back from Angela.

"Are you kidding?" Hodgins asked, "I don't know much about art, but this is seriously awesome."

"Yeah really! Have you been taking lessons?" Angela asked curiously

"No, I don't think I ever really took lessons," He said remembering those rainy days with Kathy. "I just sort of started."

"No art school?" Bones queried.

"Ah, no." He knew better than to lie about something traceable that, "I just have a good eye for it I guess."

"Major understatement," Angela said, "Really, it's been a while since I've seen such good linework like that up-close and personal."

"Okay, now do me in color!" Cordelia said grinning.

Before Booth had a chance to decline, Camille cleared her throat.

"As lovely as this is, and it is _lovely,_ I think it would be best if you got back to work."

He shot her a grateful expression. A colored drawing with a background would take a considerably longer time than a simple line portrait. Now that the flow of creativity had been disrupted, he found himself mentally exhausted.

"C'mon, I'll draw the colored one another day."

She pouted lightly but agreed. He tore the paper from the book, knowing that there was no way he would be able to go back and finish it like he wanted to now that they had seen it.

He was about to pass it over, but Angela stopped him.

"Aren't you going to sign it?" She asked. It would be a shamed to leave a piece like that unclaimed. She hated not being able to claim her own work because she did the majority of her art for the Jeffersonian for facial reconstructions.

"Right, I should probably give it a title too," he said laying it on the pad. He thought about it for a moment before he slowly titled the piece with elegant handwriting. Then he added his signature to the bottom of the page.

**_Cordelia_** was spelled out in fine flowing script below the portrait and in the corner there was a simple and neat cursive 'Angel.'

"Nice handwriting." Hodgins commented, impressed.

"If it was anyone else but you, I would be concerned about a guy who had handwriting this pretty," Cordelia teased.

Booth just sighed.

"Thank you," She said again, taking hold of the paper delicately so as not to crumple it.

"You're welcome. Now I'm going to wash my hands and start working on paperwork. It might be enough to call it a day," Booth said exhaling.

"Are you getting sick of me?" Cordelia asked, looking partially mock-offended and perhaps even a little genuinely worried.

"No," He said with a smile, "But I don't think we'll be able to do any talking at work. Why don't we meet for dinner afterwards? It would give you some time to relax." The intensity of her headaches concerned him greatly. She no longer had the half-demon to pad the pain and it made him worry.

"I'm fine." She said, as though reading his mind, "But maybe I will go to the hotel and take a nice long bath."

"Alright, I'll swing by around five. Then we'll pick up Parker, okay?"

Brennan fought to keep the surprise from her face. Then again, she supposed she shouldn't be surprised that Booth was introducing her to Parker already with how close the two seemed.

"Kay, see you then." Cordelia waved lightly.

"Thanks for the gift Cordelia," He said with a smile.

"Thanks for the gift Angel," She said right back at him, motioning with the portrait in her hand.

"Go to work! Save the world everyone!" She said before finally leaving.

Camille smiled, "What she said; back to work everyone."

Booth smiled after her before shaking his head and gathering his new box of pastels and sketch-pad before going to his desk and signing papers.

"_Saving the world," _he snorted in his head, "_As if it was this simple."_

* * *

**+ AN:**

**It's a bit of a filler chap, but I felt like it was necessary. Stuff happens next time.**

**SOOO ashes at midnight pointed out to me that there was a point in the last chapter where Cordelia and Booth were _waay_ off target in regards to their characterization. I fixed it so it's better than before, but I do have to say, if you ever disagree with a reaction or something, please let me know. I'd take anything you'd say into consideration.  
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**Don't forget to vote on the poll on my bio page! If you ever think that the story is leaning to one pairing or the other, don't worry, each have their dues, and I want everyone as conflicted as possible!**

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_P.S. These fucking titles are killing me. I've never had so much trouble finding names for chapters._

_P.P.S. I love superman and batman sooo much._


	5. A Psychological Quandary

**Sorry for the wait. I'm here though and so is the new chapter. We get to hear from Brennan's perspective which was _soo_ much fun to write!**

**Disclaimer in previous chapters**

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* * *

_Chapter 5: A Psychological Quandary_

* * *

Brennan frowned.

It was Monday.

She understood that it was a very common convention for people who worked typical five day workweeks to find Mondays to be especially taxing.

Personally, Mondays didn't really bother Brennan. Though she enjoyed her time off, she also enjoyed getting back to work. Perhaps it was due to the busy and sometimes questionable weekends many people enjoyed, that Mondays tended to bring forth new bodies for Brennan to examine. Her work was her passion, so it made sense to her that she would enjoy returning to it.

Due to those facts, she was generally quite sprightly on Mondays, to her colleagues' occasional irritation.

However, such was not the case this particular Monday.

The reason for which was sitting a few feet away on the patio, sipping coffee and laughing and talking about the weekend to Booth, Angela, and Camille.

Cordelia Chase was back. She had not returned to Los Angeles over the weekend, like Brennan suspected she might. Instead, she had spent what sounded like a delightful and fun-filled weekend with Booth and his son. Inwardly, Brennan was surprised at how fondly Cordelia spoke of Parker, as self-centered personality types, empirically speaking, tended not to like children quite as much. Despite that, there was an unquestionably fond tone as she spoke, but there was also a note of something else in her tone, a wistfulness as she spoke about Booth's son, as though the thought made her nostalgic and yearning. Brennan was unable to divine what the source of that was. Perhaps Cordelia had a younger brother. Then again, Brennan's first impression was that Cordelia seemed like an only child. Maybe a younger cousin. Either way, it was clear that the weekend had gone well. Cordelia seemed sufficiently caught up on Booth's life, having met his child and coworkers. But now she was back here again.

Brennan found herself questioning how long the starlet would be around. It wasn't as though she disliked the movie star. In fact, she found Cordelia to be an entertaining and humorous person— most importantly though, she was a good influence on Booth. Brennan saw him show different facets of his personality she'd never seen before. This disturbed her and comforted her at the same time. It felt as though the more he revealed, the less she actually knew about him. Then again, considering the downward trend he'd been on after the brain surgery, this was a huge improvement in his overall state of being. Perhaps that would be enough.

Still, for whatever reason, a small part of her disliked the presence of the actress and hoped she returned to her home in L.A. sooner rather than later.

For the moment though, Brennan knew she would have to operate around the actress' presence. After taking a deep breath, Bones moved forward and took one of the free seats around the coffee table.

"Morning Bones," Booth greeted. The rest echoed similar sentiments which she similarly returned. Having come into a conversation that had already been started, Cordelia began talking once more, picking up where she had left off.

"Yeah, I actually had to go shopping for more clothes. I wasn't planning on staying here so long," Cordelia laughed.

"Were you in danger of wearing the same outfit more than once?" Booth teased, making her smack his arm.

"How long do you think you'll be staying with us?" Brennan heard herself ask. She automatically wished she hadn't as Camille and Angela looked at her curiously. Thankfully Booth didn't stare at her the same way. Instead he and Cordelia were looking at each other, as though they hadn't thought of it before.

"Uhh," Cordelia's brow was furrowed, "I dunno."

"Surely you have projects pending," Brennan noted, ignoring Angela's piercing gaze.

"Do you, Cordy?" Booth asked. He hated to think she was blowing off important work when she had finally gotten to where she wanted to be in life.

"We're off season. I was proposed a few minor projects, nothing too bad to skip commercials and the like, a few guest appearances, and maybe a talk show or two." She shrugged unconcernedly, "Besides, it's about time I took a vacation. The last time I did was . . ." She trailed off as she tried to remember. Time stretched on as she thought.

"Are you a workaholic?" Booth asked in surprise.

"No," She replied, "I just don't see the point of vacation when I have a private jet and can go wherever I want," She shot back. Angela looked completely jealous. Brennan imagined that the forensic artist probably had lists of places she wanted to visit someday.

"I'll take that as a yes," Booth replied, unphased by her wealth.

"Maybe I should find something to do during the day, if I am going to stay here for a while longer," She said thoughtfully to herself.

"Shopping," Booth suggested dryly, "I've heard that's a popular pastime."

"Even I can get bored with that," She said with a sigh.

"Sacrilege," Angela said, looking serious.

"Blasphemy!" Booth echoed sarcastically.

"Ha ha, mister," She replied, frowning as she tried to come up with something.

"Wow you really are a workaholic," Booth said, a bit of wonder coloring his tone.

"Shush." She paused as she thought. "Maybe I should call up Harmony to come hang out with me," She suggested with a grin, enjoying the paleness of her friend's face. The other women present didn't know who she was talking about, but they had a general idea of the aforementioned woman's temperament from Booth's reaction.

"Ugh," Booth groaned, "Don't even joke about that. Is she still around?" Knowing Harmony and her antics, he was surprised she hadn't been staked before he even met her. Then again, she had the strangest luck and tenacity.

"Yeah, she's still around, surprisingly," Cordelia informed him, "She's been courting the rich and elderly from what I last heard."

"Typical," Booth uttered, making Cordelia smile even wider. He really shouldn't have been surprised.

Cordelia laughed. "Ahh, well I'm sure I'll think of something to do. Until then, I think I'll rearrange your office. I read a book about Feng Shui, you know. About the energy in a room and all that jazz . I think it could really help you!"

"Oh really?" He asked, looking resigned.

"Yes, and I need some muscle to move stuff."

"You do know why I come here right?" He asked, "I come here to work."

"You can't take a break to help me?" She asked raising an unhappy brow.

"An all-day break?" He predicted.

"That would be irresponsible," She said with a falsely chastening tone.

"I would be fine to help you move things for a little while," Brennan volunteered, making all of their eyes flip towards her.

"Really?" Camille asked with no little surprise.

"I could use a little exercise before starting work." Brennan spoke casually. In fact, she did have an ulterior motive. Despite the time the actress spent around the office, Cordelia remained an indefinite variable in her life, and she saw an opportunity to straighten it out.

The movie star looked surprised by the offer, but thought about it a moment before nodding in agreement.

"Alright then," Cordelia said, "another woman's touch couldn't hurt. You're office totally throws off the life energy and stuff, Angel."

"Well, we wouldn't want the universe to be unbalanced, now would we," he smirked at Cordelia who rolled her eyes, but smiled in response.

"Let me grab my paperwork before you go in and move things around," Booth said with a resigned sigh. He quickly climbed the steps to his office.

"Hmph!" Cordelia shook her head, "It's like he thinks we're going to mess everything up."

Angela and Camille smiled before they excused themselves to go to work. Cordelia finished the last of her coffee as Booth descended the stairs, carrying a stack of thick papers.

"Alright then," he said, "I suppose you can go in and do whatever, just don't break anything, and don't mess with anything in my drawers Cordy," he warned, sitting back on the patio which became his temporary desk. The lab was efficient in its use of space and resources. There wasn't a spare table in the entire Jeffersonian that wasn't covered in scientific tools and or bones.

"Don't worry Angel, you're stuff isn't really worth going through," she paused, "Unless you have some alcohol stashed away."

Booth shook his head. "Keep an eye on her, will you Bones?"

The forensic anthropologist nodded before heading toward federal agent's office, Cordelia in tow.

Upon entering, Cordelia scanned the surroundings, a look of disgust on her face. "Honestly, you'd think he'd have some sense of having good flowing energy with all that tai chi stuff. Apparently not." Cordelia snorted.

Brennan took a moment to process her words. Booth did not seem the type for tai chi because it was lengthy and not the typical sort of traditional exercise he liked to do. He preferred lifting weights and jogging if she recalled correctly.

Filing that information away for further pondering in the future, Brennan returned her attention to the task at hand and tried to see what Cordelia was talking about. All she saw was the same cherry wood furniture that had been neatly arranged in a logical manner that utilized the space effectively and kept the office from feeling too cloistered. "Where do we start?" She asked.

"With the couch," Cordelia answered immediately. "If a person wanted to sleep or something, it shouldn't be facing the window where light can come in. Let's flip this first."

Her words made Brennan smile dryly. Cordelia's sudden interest in changing Booth's office was beginning to make sense to her. If she had any doubts about her initial impression on Cordelia and her self-centric focuses, they were quickly laid to rest. No to say that there was any negative connotations with her conclusion. She knew they played their part in society, particularly in the realm of business.

"Are you going to help, or just watch?" Cordelia asked irked. She was waiting on one side of the couch with her hand on her hip.

"Sorry, I was momentarily distracted." Brennan quickly moved to the opposite side and gripped the under section of the couch.

"Alright, one, two three!" On the final count the two heaved the furniture up in the air with dual grunts of effort.

"So, how long have you known Angel," Cordelia asked, her voice a tad strained as they began rotating the couch.

"I suppose it's been about five years now," Brennan answered, "Though that time has had a couple excavations interspersed, and then there's the recovery time for the brain surgery, so with that in mind, I suppose the time we spent together is closer to four or four and half years. Of course then there are a few side matters that required one of us away—"

"I think I get the picture," Cordelia said, cutting off Brennan's lengthy answer, "Sheesh, I'm all for estimated guessing; there's no need to get all technical."

Brennan nodded. "And I suppose you spent a fairly lengthy amount of time with him as a child?"

"Funnily enough I think it was only about five years. It seemed like so much longer" she spoke with a wistful tone as she remembered. The actress paused a moment, "Then again, I did know him before that, but we really didn't spend that much time, so I guess it was more like—" Cordelia caught herself rambling. "Gah! It's contagious!"

Brennan smiled. Inwardly she was trying to figure out the timeline. If it was near five to six years, then it was likely they were friends very young. If she was recalling correctly, his grandfather removed Booth and his brother from their father's custody when he was around ten or eleven years old. So, considering that Booth's grandfather lived in a different state than Booth's parents, it would be safe to assume that he met Cordelia when he was about five, or after he was ten. Would one call a person a childhood friend if they were in their early teens? Brennan didn't know, she admittedly lacked experience in that category.

"Alright, I think that's good," Cordelia said. She seemed satisfied by their work. "I better check it though." With that, the starlet flopped on the couch. "Oh that is much better."

"Is the energy flowing better?" Brennan couldn't help but ask with a small smiled on her face.

"Oh yes," Cordelia sighed. "I think that we could take a break while I reevaluate what needs to be done." The starlet put her forearm over her eyes to block out the bright florescent light.

Of course, Brennan thought, it was apparent to her that the actress was evidently trying to find a place in the lab to sleep. Deciding that she would better spend her time working, Brennan was about to excuse herself. She had gotten an interesting tidbit of information regarding their timeline, and for the moment, that would be enough for her to mull over.

"What exactly is your relationship with Angel?"

The blunt question startled Brennan out of her thoughts. Glancing over to the figure on the couch, she noted the actress peering at her from under her arm. It suddenly struck Brennan that perhaps Cordelia was here for the same reason she was.

"How do you mean?" Brennan asked. "You know," Cordelia said, "What is he to you?"

"In a romantic sense?" Brennan wondered aloud, stalling for time as she carefully considered her answer.

"In whatever sense," Cordelia pressed, "if it's romantic, then in a romantic sense."

Brennan sighed before assembling her reply.

"He is my partner at work and afterhours I consider him to be a . . . close friend." Brennan suddenly realized that that was exactly what Booth was. When had he gotten so close to her? When did he become a permanent fixture in her life? She shook herself out of her thoughts and instead glanced at Cordelia to gauge her response. Would the actress appear glad to know that Booth remained unattached?

The actress sighed, but it was neither in relief nor upset. "That's good to hear."

"You and he still seem close," Brennan observed. "Even after all this time."

Cordelia smiled somewhat crookedly, "Well, when you go through some of the stuff we have together; you sort of bond with a person."

"I see," Brennan said, "It's natural to create such bonds when there is trauma," She murmured the last part to herself. Things were beginning to make sense.

"Did you say trauma?" The actress shot up from the couch, startling Brennan.

"I am referencing his issues with his father," Brennan cleared up, frowning at Cordelia's response.

After a long pause, the other woman sighed. "Of course. That was hard for him." She shook her head, "I'm surprised he told you about it though, he's pretty secretive about his life."

Brennan nodded. Perhaps Cordelia was upset that Booth shared his problems with Brennan.

"It was only recently, really," The forensic anthropologist said.

"Does he seem okay about it now? I mean, after everything that happened . . ." The actress looked distressed, almost teary eyed.

Brennan's smile was soft and genuine. "I think so. He appears to have coped with it appropriately and has not let it interfere with pursuing what he wants in life."

"That sounds like him," Cordelia also smiled before it faded and she frowned, "Well, I just wonder sometimes why stuff like that happens."

"Well," Brennan paused, "Generally it is a cycle of abusers. Those that were abused as children often times grow up and abuse their children. Also child abuse is common for parents that are alcoholics—"

Cordelia let out a strangled cry, startling Brennan. She looked over to see the actresses' pale face. Her knuckled were clenched so tightly one could see the white of her bones.

"Why can't they just leave him alone!?" She demanded furiously, seemingly to no one. Brennan stared at her blank surprise.

"What's going on?" Booth skidded into the room, hand on his gun, having jumped into action the moment he'd heard Cordelia scream. When he didn't see a threat, he dropped his tense stance.

"Cordelia?" He asked tentatively. She was clearly upset. Booth walked over and gripped both of her shoulders as he looked over her with a concerned expression.

"What's wrong?" He asked, searching her face.

"They made your father an alcoholic?!" She asked, her voice climbing pitch, as her eyes watered. "Why you? Why do they keep messing with you? I mean, haven't you already paid your dues? Haven't they messed with you enough?!" She shouted.

It was then that Brennan realized that the actress had tricked her. Clearly Cordelia's performing skills were not only used for the stage. Brennan should have known from her first reaction that Cordelia didn't know what she was taking about. She felt guilt stab at her for accidently revealing Booth's rather personal business to his friend. She should have figured out that Cordelia was leading her on.

The actress' eyes flickered to Brennan who had watched the entire thing unfold. Booth suddenly noticed Brennan was there watching them.

"Ah, do you think you could step out a moment?"

"Yeah sure," Brennan said distractedly.

Booth kept his eyes trained on Cordelia. "Look Cordy, it's alright—" He began.

She cut him off vehemently, "Alright? Alright?! How can any of this be alright! All of its wrong, just so so wrong!" Why would they do that, how could they, after everything you sacrificed and everything we went through to fix their fucking messes and balance the goddamn universe, they do this?! Where's the fucking equivalence in that!" A few tears escaped her eyes and she quickly swiped them away with an angry hand.

Booth bit his tongue. Clearly he should wait before telling her he'd been a sniper in the war.

"Look, it sucked but I don't hold it against them," Booth began to explain, "I—"

"Why? Why don't you?!" She asked, cutting him off, "How can you just let it all go when Powers screw with you so much!"

Booth sighed before answering in a slow and deliberate manner. "One thing I've learned in my very, very, _very,_ long life, is that people learn and connect through pain sometimes." He spoke softly. "This life had to deal with its own level of hardships. Had to go through its own struggles so that I could be who I am today."

"It still isn't fair," she muttered with angry and teary eyes.

"I gained something through all that pain too," he assured her. "I gained a well," he mulled it over before answering, "a foster family. Bones and Dr. Sweets, ah, he's our psychiatrist, they've both dealt with that same sort of pain . . ." he trailed off, "being able to share and connect with people— well, it soothes it."

She didn't say anything, and he didn't push her. Eventually, after her tears had dried, up, she spoke again.

"I don't like it." The sentence was simple, almost childlike.

"I know."

They stayed like that for a long while, simply standing in front of the other. Eventually, Cordelia took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. For the moment, she supposed she just had to accept his answer. On one level it relieved her to find out that he had such good friends this time around. Ones he could share his troubles with. Especially considering the shitty hands the Powers had, (once again,) dealt him. On another level, it was distressing— She wasn't a part of his newest foster family. And she knew he would have never shared what had happened with her. Maybe that was the line between who Angel was, and who he had become through his life as Booth.

"Do you really see a psychiatrist?" She asked with a half-smirk, breaking the tenseness.

He smiled, "Yeah, Bones and I see Dr. Sweets once a week." He paused, "We didn't always used to get on as well as we do now . . ."

"I would love to see you getting psychoanalyzed," Cordelia grinned.

He rolled his eyes and she fell silent once more. Her brow was still furrowed, and Booth struggled to find a topic to fill the silence.

"They sent me to another one once because I shot a clown," He stated. He saw her mouth fall open.

"WHAT?! You killed a clown?!" Cordelia asked shocked.

"No, I didn't kill I just shot."

"Wounded!" She amended, "Like seriously from the sound of it."

"It wasn't a real clown," he finally clarified, "It was just some dumb mascot on an icecream truck.

"Did it offend you in some way, or was it caught in the crossfire on one of your chases?" She speculated.

"Neither," Booth revealed, "It was just annoying. Besides I hate clowns. They're evil. I don't need probable cause to shoot evil things."

Now Cordelia really laughed.

He smiled eventually and laughed too. For the moment, they could still smile. Cordelia supposed she could let the conversation die . . . For now. If she ever met The Powers though, she was going to kick the shit out of them, corporeal or not— she'd find a way.

* * *

Brennan exited Booth's office and stood at the entrance deep in thought. Behind her she heard muffled shouts from Cordelia. Brennan noted the Zack, Hodgins and Angela were seated at the coffee table, which was still covered with Booth's paperwork.

"Is Cordelia okay?" Hodgins asked, "We heard her screaming . . ."

"Is she mad at Booth for some reason?" Zack asked, noting that they could still hear the sounds of yelling.

"Yes, she is alright, she was deeply unsettled by something," Brennan explained. Her brow furrowed in thought.

"Are _you_ alright?" Angela asked slowly.

"I'm fine," Brennan waved her concern away, "Just confused about a few things."

"What is it?" Angela pressed

"I thought I understood something, but it turned out I was wrong."

"Let me guess," Angela said, rubbing her forehead with her fingers, before suddenly snapping "It has something to do with Booth and Cordelia."

Brennan blinked. "How did you know?"

"Honey, I know you well enough to know that when something is really stumping you, it usually involves Booth."

"So what's confusing you," Angela asked.

"The part about his childhood," Brennan said carefully, keeping her sentences vague. "I thought I knew how they bonded but I was mistaken. Now I don't know what it was that created such a strong bond since I have to discard my previous theory."

It was Hodgins who replied with a shrug. "Kids live hectic lives, who knows what kind of trouble they got into."

"I know, you're probably right," Brennan said, though the niggling feeling would not leave her. "It's just that yesterday when she was saying goodbye . . ."

" . . It was like she though he was dead or something." Zack finished.

"Yeah."

"Maybe they were friends before he went to the army and she thought he was killed in action or something," Hodgins hypothesized.

Bones frowned, "That's a long time to let someone think you were dead for."

"Maybe he thought she wouldn't care because he saw she was some fancy movie star?" Angela suggested

"That could be," Brennan admitted grudgingly. There was still something that didn't sit right with her about the conclusion. She decided to ask the other question on her mind.

"I was wondering," Brennan began again, "If you were friends with someone when you were in your early teens, would you still call them a childhood friend?"

"What?" Hodgins uttered, confused by the sudden change in subject.

"I'm just wondering," Brennan asked.

"Well, what ages are we talking about specifically?" Angela asked, humoring her friend. Something about the way Brennan asked told Angela she was serious.

"The ages ten through fifteen or sixteen."

"Well," Hodgins began slowly. He'd never thought of that before. "I mean I think I would. You aren't really an adult until you're eighteen. Everything before that is childhood, I'd say."

Zack snorted, "I disagree. Teenagedom is a time in which you break away from the childish things. I'd say one would not call them a childhood friend. Those are the bonds you make in grade school."

"Well," Angela smiled at Zack, "It may have something to do with your 'teenagedom,'" She put little air quotations over the word, "being a lot more recent than most of ours."

Hodgins laughed and Brennan and Angela both smiled at his surly expression.

"Cordelia!"

Booth's sudden panicked cry drew the scientist back towards the office. Brennan realized that she hadn't heard any yelling from the room in some time. After entering the office, she saw Booth was bent over holding the starlet who was collapsed on the ground in his hands. Her pretty face was scrunched up in pain.

Hodgins, Zack, and Angela filed in after Brennan and the etymologist exhaled.

"Woah, what's going on?"

"I need a glass of water and tylenol?" Booth asked urgently, ignoring the question.

"Um I think I might have some in my purse," Angela replied, quickly leaving the room.

"Can you get me some water Zack?" He demanded more than asked, and Zack leapt into action. Brennan and Hodgins hovered awkwardly. It was then that Camille entered the office and looked over the situation with a frown.

"What's going on? Is Miss Chase alright?" She asked concernedly. Her gaze turned to Hodgins and Brennan looking for answers.

"We don't know. She was already like this when we got here," Hodgins quickly explained.

"Cor," Booth said shaking her gently, "Cordy, are you alright?"

Her breath came in short bursts and there was a light sheen of sweat on her face.

"Is she going to be okay?" Hodgins asked nervously.

"She'll be fine," Booth said distractedly as he lifted her off the ground and over to the couch that she and Brennan had so recently moved.

Zack came puttering back into the room, a glass of water held tightly in his hands.

"Thanks," Booth murmured taking the glass.

"Ugh," Cordelia uttered, finally seeming to break through her pain.

"Cordy?" Booth asked.

"Angel?" She murmured, still a little distant.

"Have some water; Angela is getting some Tylenol right now." He soothed her before passing the the glass and helping her sit up.

"Thanks," she murmured, sipping on the water. Her brow was still stressed from the pain.

"That's one thing I didn't miss about this," she said vaguely and he gave her a wan smile.

"Here! I got the Tylenol right here!" Angela said as she reentered the room. She knelt next to the couch Cordelia was on and began tipping two pills out.

"Oh no, she'll need more that that," Booth said, taking the bottle. He shook the bottle until there were five pills in his hand.

"Wow, are you going to fix her headache by killing her liver?" Hodgins asked sarcastically.

"Angel . . ." she dragged out.

"No, take the first five and if you still need more you can have another one. Hodgins is right about your kidney," Booth spoke firmly.

"If _They_ kill me through kidney poisoning, I will NOT be happy," she said angrily.

Booth shared a weak smile with her.

"Um, 'they?'" Angela asked, her voice laced with confusion.

"Uhm, the medicine companies?" Cordelia tried.

"It's an inside joke," Booth covered quickly.

"I'll say," Cordelia grumbled. "And you really, really don't want to be in on it," she said as she took another Tylenol from the bottle, despite Booth's disapproving look.

The squints exchanged puzzled glances.

"Cordy," Booth hesitated, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, she said at length, "It wasn't as bad as it used to be, it's just been so long since I've had one, I'm a bit out of practice."

"One what?" Zack finally asked the question that was on all of their minds.

"Uhm, I used to get these really painful, and sudden migraines—" she paused and said softer, "Well, I guess now it's 'I get' again."

"It looks as though you've made it through the worst of it," Camille commented before glancing around the room. "You all need to return to work soon," the director warned, "Do take care, Miss Chase." And with that, she stepped out of the room.

"Cordy," Booth said hesitantly, "Was there anything you . . ." he trailed off.

"Oh yeah! Wow it hurt so much I almost forgot." Her face turned serious. "Fred, I saw Fred."

"Fred?!" Booth asked with surprise. "I thought you said Fred was working on the space station.

"She is—well, she was, or I guess she won't be soonish . . . Gah, I don't know Angel!"

"Right Sorry, just tell me—"

"Did you say space station?" Zack asked in surprise.

He paused, remembering their audience.

"Uhm, would you guys mind giving us a moment to ourselves?"

The four of them exchanged glances, and reluctantly left the duo alone, questions swirling around their heads.

"Right, so what do you remember?" He asked.

"Right, okay, focus Cordelia," she said to herself.

"I saw Fred. She's back in the city, wait, I saw the capitol building . . .and I think she's in D.C!" Cordelia's eyes popped open in surprise.

"Is that all? Did you see anything else?"

Cordelia shook her head. "That's all I saw."

"Okay, right, well, I suppose we should try and find her. There must be a reason you saw her in your vision."

Cordelia nodded in agreement. "Uhm, do you think I could rest for a while first?" she asked, "It doesn't seem terribly urgent, not like the visions I usually get anyways. It was also nighttime, so I think we have a little time . . ."

"Of course!" he said, remembering how tired she used to be after a vision.

"You can lie down here for a bit. I'll finish up my work and you can come back to my apartment and have a proper rest there before we look for Fred."

"I have a hotel room" she said with a light frown.

"I'd feel better if you were with me," he said honestly, "If you have another vision, I'd rather be nearby."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed, "You're not going to babysit me 24/7 Angel," She hissed, "I can take care of myself."

"Look, Cordy," Booth said with a sigh, "What if it happens while you were in the elevator or the lobby? What if it happens while you were alone? What if it happens on the stairs?!"

She bit her lip unhappily. In the past, they had many friends who were always around, always ready to help, never too far away . . . it wasn't such a problem. She also had her heavy duty medication that allowed her to pull herself together relatively quickly. But now, she had neither.

"I know I can't be there all the time," Booth admitted, "but at least let me be there part of the time."

She sighed, "I guess there's no getting out of this, is there?" She asked sarcastically.

Booth gave her a wry smile, happy that he had gotten his way. "Not at all."

"Fine, we'll drive by the hotel later and get my stuff." She decided, "For now I'll just lie down for a bit, okay?" She winced as she moved a little too quickly in lowering herself down.

"Ah, actually, that would work out well; Bones and I have therapy in a little bit," He said, studying her face to see if she would need more medicine.

She managed a weak smile, "You have to go to that. For the sake of all the clowns out there, you need to be as mentally balanced as possible."

He laughed lightly at what she said before he quickly gathered some of the paperwork he still had to do. He turned off the lights as he left. He clicked the doors shut softly and turned around. He jumped with surprise as he saw four very suspicious squints staring at him.

"Thanks for the Tylenol Angela," Booth said slowly as he passed the bottle back, looking at the four as he did.

"No problem," she replied, her eyes never leaving his face. He tried to ignore them and returned back to the coffee table and reclaimed his seat. They followed and hovered around. Finally he turned to face them.

"What?" he asked, uncomfortable from their intense focus.

"What's with you having friends on the space station?" Hodgins asked with squinted eyes.

"I honestly didn't know until recently," he said defensively, "and besides that, it really isn't any of your business."

"How could you not know you had a friend up there?" Zack asked incredulously, "Do you know the kind of people they choose to go up there?"

"She and I haven't talked much recently," he rebuffed.

"Wait she? Fred's a girl?" Angela asked curiously.

"Yeah, so?"

"That name is particularly unusual for a female to have," Brennan put in.

"Well, it's short for Winifred," he said as he shuffled his papers.

"Wait," Zack said, his face blank, "Are you talking about Winifred Burkle?"

"Yeah, that's her last name," Booth said, pulling out the most important documents he needed to finish today.

"You're friends with THE Winifred Burkle, the one with three PHD's in astrophysics, biochemical engineering and microbiology? The scientist who writes the textbooks for Harvard?!" His voice climbed in pitch to impressive heights.

Booth blinked "She has been busy," he said in amazement. Cordelia had left a lot of stuff out. Fred was in one word, resilient. She had recovered from Pylea and then from what happened with Illyria and the loss of . . . He shook himself. "Good for her." She deserved success.

"Good for— what?! I can't—"

"I don't believe it," Hodgins said stubbornly. "You're messing with us."

"Yep, that's me," Booth said sarcastically, "I would look up someone on the space shuttle, convince my best friend to play along with it, just so I could mess with you all."

"Sounds about right."

"Are we in middle school?" Booth rolled his eyes and began to studiously ignore them. He was getting sick of all their questions. Couldn't they all just let him be? They didn't need to know everything about his life . . . They really didn't _want _to know everything about his life.

He sighed and worked on finishing his paperwork. Brennan and Angela left, though the curious expressions had yet to leave their faces. Hodgins and Zack, on the other hand, continued to attempt to probe him for answers but he resolutely remained silent. Camille came by a few minutes later and snapped them into action, much to Booth's delight. After about half an hour, he and Brennan needed to leave for therapy.

"Make sure to call me if she gets another headache," Booth said seriously to Hodgins, Angela and Zack.

"Yes, yes, we heard you the first five times," Angela rolled her eyes at his blatantly overprotective behavior.

"I'm serious."

"Go on, or you'll be late!" Angela urged.

Reluctantly, Booth did as she suggested and left the building, Brennan in tow, and headed for the office of one Dr. Sweets.

* * *

**So? Do we like the hints of Fred? I made up Fred's silly credentials because she probably is that awesome, and using connections at wolfram and hart, anything is possible, really. ****I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I liked thinking like Brennan, and I tried to be creative about how I began introducing details of Booth's past.**

**I also tried to stay in character, but I really struggled with this one. Damn. _Julianna_ brought up a very good point in the last fic about how I left out the detail of Angel's obsessive period with Darla, in which he drew plenty. (I need to go and fix that . . .) I'm really glad she pointed it out though. If Y'all find something wrong, please message me!**

**Also, to the first anon guest that reviewed on chapter four on May 26th; If you're reading this, be aware that I have not given up on my lotr Kenshin crossover story. It isn't abandoned. I update this one because a lot of the beginning is written out. I also read every review, so while I'm delighted you like the story so much, I think it would be better if that review went in my crossover fic section, instead of this one. :} Again, I'm grateful for your enthusiasm.**

**Anyways, thanks for reading y'all**

**RE**view?


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